Blackened Dawn
by Svren
Summary: History has a way of repeating itself. As Erebus, he had been the villain; as Thanatos, he was Death's charismatic right-hand; and as Percy, he was the lauded hero... until the gods threw him into Tartarus. When Gaea ascends in power, the Olympians desperately seek help in the form of an unknown entity—one that knows them better than they know themselves. Primordial-Percy. P/R, AU.
1. Hagalaz (Change)

Welcome to Blackened Dawn, the newly re-posted version. A big thank you to all of my lovely readers for sticking with me for so long.

**Warnings** — Slightly insane and sadistic Percy, darker themes.

**Disclaimer** — only time I am writing this. If I owned Percy I would've made him much more kick-ass and given him more power over water. As you can see, unfortunately, I do not.

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<br>Hagalaz  
>╠╣<strong>

_Rune for change, crisis, uncontrollable._

* * *

><p>To the hesitant reader,<p>

They say Love is the strongest emotion in the world. It can power wars, dreams, hopes.

But Hate is an equally vengeful emotion, and is it not more satisfying? It is fire, burning _everything_ it touches to aches, yet gives out such an inexplicable thrill of darkness, of insanity.

I may be young, but I know Hate.

And while others may believe that it is mere folly that I would know of such, should Love scald my heart and pierce it with such fierce acerbity? Or should Love leave a bitter taste in my mouth and dark anger coursing in my veins? If Love is so _kind_, then why do I feel myself losing control and a roar of outrage threatening to overcome whatever control I have managed to retain?

_Why?_

But I know.

For Hate is all of these things and more. And since I have never been shown Love, why would I return the gesture?

Some call me a monster. And that, to an extent is true, I do not deny it. But how can they sit there pointing fingers at me when people —if they can still be called such— many times more atrocious than I are roaming under their very noses?

They are blind, all of them. Blinded by power, blinded by wealth.

But you do not know who I am, do you?

No one knows. Even I myself do not know anymore, I suppose.

Because wars change people. In war, every moment, every sound seems more real; you know that at any second it may end. It is kill or be killed, live or die. And in many ways, we are not so different from animals, though we wish to think ourselves superior. The laws of the wild have never truly relinquished their hold on us. Weakness is not accepted.

But I accept this, even though I do not have a choice in the saying. I will just have to be faster, to be better, to survive.

Because sometimes, the darkness is real.

People have always been desperate for stories to explain why so many bad things happen to good people. They hang on despairingly to 'happily ever afters,' to give them hope that their happy ending will come, no matter how bleak the circumstances. They don't want to know, to accept, that there is nothing past death but an empty nothingness. It's more comforting to believe the storytellers, that fairy tales_ do_ come true.

But this is _not_ a fairy tale. There are no 'happily ever afters', no 'knights in shining armor' to save the day. There will be no happy endings. So take heed.

You have been warned.


	2. Nauthiz (Delusion)

**A/N** - Quite a long chapter for my standards :) Many thanks to all who reviewed, you've all inspired me to plug away at this chapter when I wanted to just scream and smash my computer to bits. I hope I did not disappoint.

Next chapter will be the beginning of the end.

—sol

* * *

><p>And I want a moment to be real, want to touch things I don't feel,<br>want to hold on and feel I belong.  
>And how can they say I never change, they're the ones that stay the same,<br>I'm the one now and I'm still here.

–I'm Still Here

**Chapter I**  
><strong>Nauthiz<br>**┼

_Rune for delusion, distress, confusion._

* * *

><p>Kill him.<p>

_Through the throes of pain Percy marveled at how one simple command could cause such breathtaking agony. He wasn't so sure if his thoughts were still coherent, or had he already been driven over the brink of insanity. Suffice it to say, it _hurt_ like nothing he'd experienced before__._

_He'd known of the elderwood poisons—it was the silver compounds, he knew, crafted specially to bring him down. Though he may not use them, it does not serve to be blinded by prejudice and lose an advantage. Still, he'd reacted too slow and the sickly colored bolt had caught him unawares. In a way, he deserved this punishment for letting his guard down._

_But no theoretical training can prepare one for the excruciating pain that was sure to follow. His nerves had been lit on fire, bones cracking under the brute sledgehammer force of the poison. It hurt to breathe, to think... it would be better just to die... he opened his mouth to scream, but just as suddenly snapped his mouth shut, the jarring force bringing some clarity back into his mind._

_No, he would not give the insane bitch the pleasure to see him break._

_His head flung back as he felt his mind slipping beyond his control. The crystal hanging around his neck was no help to him now, his shields beginning to crack-shatter-obliterate under the intense fire roaring behind his eyelids. Cold fingers scraped at his fevered skin and he fought the urge to vomit at her touch. "Come now," the purring voice of his tormentor laced itself with the pain. Claws dug into his chin and forced him to look up into lust filled eyes._

_"Scream for me..."_

_•••_

Death.

Judgement. Fate. Heaven. Hell. Punishment. Torment. Agony. Peace. Elysium. Dream. Nightmare.

Because in death, there are no lies.

For I shall tell you the hidden truths, the revelations _your_ kind have so long tried to hide behind. The ones you fought to deny to your last breath. I will tear it apart and lay it before you, so that none of your kind can ignore any longer what you have done, to the world and to me.

I am the living evidence that everything you do will have a price. I am the one you so successfully tried to forget, the crime you thought no one would remember. I was the one you committed to death, and now I stand before you as your executioner.

My name is Percy.

Welcome to hell.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>The Second Titan War had made its lasting destruction on the camp and on its sixteen year old savior. But while one had slowly but surely rebuilt, the other had not.<p>

On that day, something in his very soul shattered into oblivion_._ Darkness seemed to enter those crystal-like eyes, and tiredness hung about him like a thick curtain. But no one ever noticed the little pieces he was breaking into, slowly cracking at the seams. He still smiled and laughed with his friends, but he had lost his luster, his life.

_(only a shell of a person)_

If anyone had taken a second to look, to pay attention for once, they would have noticed the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was looking. The way he never looked truly happy anymore, the listless and haunted look in his gaze that seemed both tired and sorrowful at the same time. The war had taken its toll on him, and he was trying to keep himself together.

The irony made him laugh aloud.

So this was what drowning felt like.

•••

It was about five days after his dip in the Styx that the hallucinations started. It was as though a barrier had been broken in his mind, and he suddenly had knowledge of things he should never have known, of memories that were never his.

_They_ were dying around him, all of them, and he could do nothing, _nothing_ to save them. He couldn't tell the difference between realities anymore. Stuck in the middle, in the grey, never to surface into the world. He couldn't break free. The voices... oh, ones of haunting quality, beseeching and begging and he couldn't take it much longer...

Standing in front of him was Annabeth Chase.

_'No,'_ he thought with blooming horror, cold dread trickling down his spine with icy fingers. '_Not again...'_

_'Why... why didn't you save me?' _Hurt gray eyes pierced his, even in death. Her blonde hair whipped a halo over her head like that of an avenging angel. In her left hand, light glimmered off her knife like molten ice.

_'Didn't you love me? I loved you. And you let me die. Death hurts._ I_ hurt. Why didn't you save me?'_

He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath. '_You're still alive_,' he tried to say firmly. '_You're not dead.'_

Those stormy eyes glared back at hand traced up the tattered remains of her faded orange shirt, pausing at the bloodstains soaked into the cloth. It clenched into a fist and her head rested limply against her chest, tears seeping through her closed eyelids. '_My blood... so much blood... you killed me... I thought I knew you. I thought you loved me.'_

_'I do!'_ he shouted at the specter, voice cracking as he sank to his knees. '_I _do_ love you, I always have!'_

Annabeth's eyes flared in sharp anger. She screamed hoarsely, an inarticulate feral sound of anger, fists clenched and tears cutting through her delicate visage. And then they were nose to nose, her hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer until Percy could almost taste the tears on her lips. He tried in vain to push her away—it was too much, he was suffocating.

Whatever she was going to say was cut off with a sudden sharp gurgle. A stabbing pain pierced his hand, and he could see, with no amount of morbid horror, a long, bronze tip cutting through his skin.

Annabeth's grey eyes widened in shock, and it would have been almost comical if he hadn't known that she'd just been run through. She let go of him, stumbling backwards, clutching at her throat with rough gurgles. Red blood spilled in a thick waterfall from her pale lips, and Percy could see the jagged edge of the poisoned sword running her through.

Riptide, smeared green.

His hand was on the hilt.

_(he had killed her)_

_'No!'_ he screamed, trying to claw his way towards her, but the wind pushed him back. The earth was thickening at his feet, slowly pulling him deeper into its maw...

Annabeth reached out a trembling hand to him, rivulets of blood criss-crossing her pale wrist. He could see the panic, the desperation in her eyes. Their fingers brushed...

And then someone was screaming, the long, keening wail hurting his ears. More voices joined in, the screams forte'ing into an echoing crescendo of pain filled cries threatening to smother him in its madness.

Percy screamed.

He couldn't see.

Couldn't breathe.

His voice was raw.

Blood tasted of rust on his lips.

Where was Annabeth?

_Annabeth?_

Cool fingers brushed desperately on his face, making him shiver uncontrollably. Someone was shaking him, trying to bring him out of the darkness. He wished they wouldn't shake him so. It didn't hurt, but it kept him from the oblivion he wished so desperately for.

Someone was shouting his name.

Was he going to die now?

But he took comfort in the fact that it sounded like Annabeth. Maybe she was waiting for him, on the other side...

Someone was crying.

_'Don't cry,'_ he tried to say, but his voice felt thick and heavy. '_Angels shouldn't cry.'_

Someone was screaming desperately.

_This is what it feels like to drown._ Only, he wasn't drowning in water, but in the lies people so carelessly spewed. They were suffocating, pushing him back down into the depths as he struggled for air. Every motion of his arms seemed to be of no use, the surface so tauntingly close yet so disturbingly far away. A bitter laugh choked out of his throat. It seemed like the son of Poseidon could drown after all.

Who knew Death had a sense of humor?

_•••_

He didn't die immediately. Although that was certainly the beginning of a catastrophic chain of results.

With every day, he faded a little more. He barely talked to anyone now, because the movement tore open his raw throat. He couldn't look at them, the happy faces of the living while he was caught somewhere in between life and death.

Insanity.

He was going insane.

* * *

><p><em>The next night he saw Thalia Grace.<em>

_She was screaming as an inferno of angry fire burned her to ashes._

* * *

><p>Annabeth kept giving him concerned looks from the breakfast table. She brushed against him as she passed by, and Percy couldn't stop himself from flinching away. He got up abruptly to leave, but Annabeth's slim hand closed around his wrist.<p>

He reared back as though her touch was poison.

She didn't let go. Those gray eyes searched through his in alarm, fixing on the bruise shadowing his cheek. "Percy," she said, in an urgent tone. "Are you feeling alright?" A trembling hand reaching up to him and he turned away sharply, avoiding her hurt look. "Gods, Percy, you look_ horrible._ What-"

"Go back to bed. I'll tell Chiron." Annabeth nodded in understanding. Her gaze was warm, sympathizing, and Percy had to grit his teeth to refrain from spilling out his heart to her.

"I'm fine," he snapped quickly. Seeing her distress, he softened slightly. "Just... nightmares."

_(she thought she understood)_

He muttered his thanks and turned sharply to leave, but Annabeth's hand pulled him back.

"Percy... are you sure you're all right?"

_'No,'_ he screamed._ 'I'm not. I've been watching my friends die. I've been watching_ you_ die. I'm going insane. Someone, help me...'_

"Yes, I'm fine," he tried a smile for her sake. "Just an off day." Annabeth scrutinized him for a moment, before smiling and letting go.

He had to restrain himself from running back to his cabin.

* * *

><p><em>Nico. A javelin pierced through his gut like paper, shattering Percy with his blood.<em>

* * *

><p>He got a new brother some time afterwards. One week, one month... it all blurred together for him. Time no longer mattered. <em>Poseidon's been busy,<em> he thought numbly. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

He couldn't bring himself to care about _anything_.

Percy tried to smile at his new half brother, but the boy —_Richard—_ pushed him roughly to the side with a growl and a snarled, "Get out of my way!"

The beginning of the end.

* * *

><p><em>Grover was pleading for Percy to save him, but he came too late. There was too much blood... he threw back his head and screamed...<em>

* * *

><p>A hand clamped over his mouth with a resounding thud. Percy's eyes flew open and he before he was fully awake, the attacker was pressed against the ground with Riptide against his throat. The bronze blade seemed to hum in excitement as it dug into the soft flesh.<p>

"Shut the hell up!" The boy —Richard, he's got to remember that— snarled at him venomously, then swallowed nervously as a trickle of blood trickled down his pale throat. It was hard to fake bravado when one had a wickedly sharp blade under one's throat. "I was having a nice dream and you just ruined it!"

"Go to Hades," he snapped back, feeling some sort of emotion rise irritably in his chest. Anger? It was a welcome surprise to him, for he felt nothing but numb despair for what seemed like eons. He re-capped the shimmering bronze sword, before slamming the door shut. The entire cabin shook and dust fell from the rafters in a fine coating of ash.

He spent the entire night by the beach. To hell with the Harpies. He almost _wished_ they would eat him; in the very least it would free his thoughts. But by some stroke of luck —if it even _was_ luck— the harpies left him alone. Perhaps they felt the despair rolling off him in thick waves and turned a blind eye for their own good.

Percy listened to the waves slapping against the shore and tried to wash away the taint of blood on his hands.

* * *

><p><em>The next night, Percy watched as Kronos killed his mother.<em>

_The screams were real this time._

* * *

><p>Percy's hands were shaking beyond control as he threw a golden drachma into the quickly dissipating mist. He waited for a few moment, and a flickering image of the rainbow goddess quickly formed, hissing grey smoke lashing into a corporeal body.<p>

_'Sorry, dearie. Your call cannot be connected.'_

_'No,'_ he chanted in horror. '_Nononononono...'_

Because she was his _mother._ His _invincible,_ kind, sweet mother. They'd survived so much together, and she couldn't be gone. He refused to believe that.

His hands fumbled as he threw in another golden coin and shouted his mother's address into the rainbow. '_Please let her be alright, please let her be alright...'_

_'Your call cannot be connected at the moment,'_ Iris' voice rang out again, her multicolored eyes peering facetiously at him. '_Anyone else you wish to contact?'_

"No!" Percy begged her. "Please, _please_ try to get this through."

Iris sighed._ 'I will do my best.'_

The image flickered and shimmered, as if it were writhing and moaning. Strands of color wove itself together like the coarse outline of fabric. Static flickered across the makeshift screen, forming crudely shaped letters and a sadistic smile.

U**O**Y **Я**Oᖷ **ᎮИI**MOƆ M**A I**  
><strong>ʞ<strong>ƆA**ᙠ** Я**UO**Y H**Ɔ**T**AW**

Percy almost collapsed with relief as the message cleared.

"Mom..." She was safe. She was_ here._

He gazed hungrily at her flickering image, trying to memorize every detail into his mind's eye, from the soft curve of her lips to the hair falling lightly in front of her sparkling eyes. The way she smiled faintly as she worked, head tilted gently to one side.

Sally whipped around at his voice, before exclaiming with delight. "Percy! Are you alright?"

He let out a shaky laugh. '_I thought you were dead. I thought...'_

"I'm fine," he said aloud, not wanting her to worry. "Just... couldn't sleep. How's Paul?"

Sally broke into a warm smile, her eyes drifting far away. "As well as we can be, the wedding is next month! Our—"

Her voice became a meaningless buzz in his ears.

_'You'll always be trapped like this,'_ a voice whispered in his ear. '_You'll watch the others slowly wither to nothingness around you, and you will beg for death. But then it will be too late. There will be no going back. Life will always go on for the others, but you're trapped outside the realm of time. __This is my curse to you, demigod.'_

The voice paused, and Percy could feel the malicious sneer curling its lips. Kronos must be laughing.

_'This will be my revenge.'_

"Mom," he interrupted suddenly, cutting off Sally's monologue about the wedding. "I need you to promise me something."

She looked confused. "I'll do my best, darling. What is it?"

Percy drew in a breath, and closed his eyes. Scenes of blood and death haunted his vision, and he shuddered audibly.

"Percy?" His mother's voice was frightened. Her large doe eyes were scanning him fretfully, with all the fierce protectiveness of a lioness with her cub. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Mom..." his voice was ragged and hoarse. He refused to meet his mother's eyes. "Promise me... promise that if anything happens to me that you will keep on living."

* * *

><p><em>They were dying around him, all of them. And he could do nothing, nothing...<em>

* * *

><p>Percy waited stiffly as young campers filed into the arena, their eyes shining with excitement and awe. It was their first swords fighting class, and Percy couldn't bring himself to ruin it for them. They were so young and innocent, so <em>carefree...<em>

A sharp jolt to his ribs made him blink. "Hey, Prissy," Clarisse was sneering at him, per usual, but there was a concerned edge to her eyes. "You've been staring at the wall for ten minutes, dufus. Care to start anytime soon?"

He managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Clarisse. I... needed that."

The daughter of Ares frowned in consternation. This only further cemented her proof that there was something wrong with her favourite target.

"Hey, Prissy... don't die on me just yet. You're not escaping teaching the runts so easily." Percy didn't respond, and his eyes seemed to glaze over.

_Damn you, Jackson,_ Clarisse cursed bitterly inside her head. _Damn you for making me care. Even though I don't. It would just be an inconvenience to train another adequately competent punching bag. That's all. I don't care what happens to you._

"I'm—" Percy's dull eyes came to rest on hers for a second, and his whole body stiffened and froze. He started shaking, even with the sun shining heatedly down upon them and the glimmer of heat waves rolling in the distance. He choked, struggling to breathe, his sword dropping limply from his grasp just as Clarisse sprang to her feet in alarm.

A trembling hand grasped her wrist, pulling her back. "Give it... a moment..." he gasped, one arm wrapped around his middle protectively.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Clarisse signalling one of her siblings to start the lesson and to distract the newbies before one of them panicked. Eventually, Percy managed to smooth out his facade and tried to smile, but failed rather drastically. He seemed to be waiting for her to tease him mercilessly, _great, more_ ammunition for the bully, Clarisse could almost read in his eyes. "Sorry, I... uh... have a headache."

Clarisse didn't buy it. But no matter what anyone said, she wasn't a heartless bastard when it came down to her friends. The amount of people she would support was pitifully small; she could count them with the fingers of one hand. And Percy, however reluctantly, was included in the dwindling list. She would never say it aloud, but she..._ trusted_ him.

Trust was a viable issue. It was weakness. But there are certain things people could do so that you cannot help but to trust them. And saving the world —_many_ times— definitely counted as one.

She cleared her throat loudly, startling some of the young campers into dropping their weapons._ Dastardly weaklings._

"Ah, Pris... err... _Percy—" _Clarisse's eyebrow ticked in irritation as_ his_ eyebrows shot up to his hairline at her words. "Err... if you want to, I dunno, talk, or something... I'm here—_damn you,_ I'm not good at this kind of thing!"

As she stormed away, trying to salvage the remains of her dignity and reputation, she heard him whisper, "Thank you... Clarisse."

Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged on her lips before she turned away.

Let it never be said that Clarisse never got what she wanted.

* * *

><p><em>That night he saw Clarisse being eaten alive by a drakon.<em>

* * *

><p>Percy lurched into the washroom, bolting the door shut hastily. He turned on the shower as hot as it would go, leaned against the wall unsteadily, and closed his eyes. The steady rhythm of water hummed soothingly in his ears and the vapor was blindingly hot. Blood... so much blood...<p>

Even with the scalding water burning into his skin, it was a long time before he felt clean.

There was only a thin line between reality and the subconscious, and Percy knew he had gone over the deep end this time. There were no anchors, no life buoys to keep him afloat, no miraculous miracles appearing out of nowhere. He had finally run out of luck.

It had only been a matter of time.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel screamed as the earth swallowed her.<em>

* * *

><p>Percy hesitated outside the threshold, before steeling himself and pushed open the heavy oaken door. It opened with the practice of well-oiled hinges.<p>

The only illumination visible was from the swaying light of candles flickering on their wicks. The windows were tinted black, giving the atmosphere a cool, sleepy air. Pillows and blankets were spread out over the bare floor in a haphazard fashion and a messy cluster of linen was bundled into one corner, out of sight. A laurel branch was set into the mantelpiece, dripping lethargically into the unlit fireplace. Percy had a sudden urge to catch one of the drops on his finger.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice muttered sleepily, before giving a great yawn. The bundle of linen rolled up to reveal oversized pajamas and squinty pig-like eyes. "That's Lethe water."

To forget... oh, it was a luxury he could not afford. Percy stuffed his hands into his pockets and forcibly turned away before the urge became too strong.

"Clovis—" He was cut off by a rumbling snore. Percy sighed, before prodding the demigod awake. "Clovis," he repeated, louder this time. "Do you know anything about nightmares?"

"Hn..." Clovis started nodding off again, a thin trickle of drool edging down his chin. "Nightmares... perfectly normal... now lemme sleep..."

Percy's eyes hardened. "Even ones about... about watching the ones you love dying in..." He trailed off, unable to force his suddenly clamped throat to work.

_(in such gruesome ways)_

Clovis blinked.

"Well, no-oo... nightmares are real... they're used to communicate... destinies and whatnot..." He peered at Percy from between his pillow. "But, that's a bunch of hocus pocus... destinies are shaped by what we do in life... the Fates are merely... a figurehead... they do not control..."

Percy turned to thank Clovis, but he was already asleep. A wry smile crept up his lips and he shook his head in faint amusement. "May the gods be with you, Clovis."

"Clovis" watched him leave through half closed eyes. His form shimmered and changed into that of an armor clad immortal, caduceus gripped in one strong hand. Hermes' lips were pursed in thoughtful contemplation, a slight worry furrowing his brow.

"And with you as well, my friend... you as well..."

* * *

><p><em>Tyson screamed as the underwater palace collapsed around him.<em>

* * *

><p>Percy watched from the Poseidon table as his brother swaggered over to the Athenian demigods. Most eyed him with undisguised disgust, but Annabeth was staring at him almost <em>adoringly.<em>

_'It's okay,' _Percy tried to calm himself down._ 'She's just talking with your brother, nothing more.'_

The goblet in his hand shattered in a spray of glass. Shrapnel pieces dug into his clenched fist mercilessly, but the pain was only a small throb in the back of his mind. Percy watched as the blood dripping from his fingertips mixed into the spilled water, turning it a misty pink.

He didn't understand why he felt so strongly against his half-brother. They should be family, but instead, Percy could sense some sort of hostile emotion rolling off him in thick waves.

Looking into Richard's smug eyes, Percy could almost picture them turn gold. He looked away in disgust.

He never saw Richard slip a small packet into Annabeth's drink.

* * *

><p><em>A boy with blonde hair and blue eyes screamed as darkness enveloped him.<em>

_A girl with dark brown eyes and even darker hair looked at him, her voice panicked. She was reaching out desperately to him, fingers outstretched._

* * *

><p>"It's getting worse, Chiron. I... don't think I can take much more of this." His head rested limply against his chest as he took a ragged breath, feeling the motion pull sharply at his torn throat.<p>

There was a rasp of steel on polished wooden floors, and then a middle aged man was wheeling towards him, face haggard and drawn. Their eyes met, and a form of understanding seemed to pass through them like an electric shock.

"How long?" he said simply. His timeless brown eyes held only infinite wisdom and sadness.

He knew this was coming. He had been dreadfully anticipating this moment, this moment he knew he could not prevent from happening.

Percy ran a tired hand over his face. "A... few weeks, maybe. After Nico took me to the Styx... I guess that's why Achilles finally went insane, huh? I don't know. Just... I need to get out, Chiron." He no longer cared to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. "I can't take this..."

Chiron closed his eyes. His face seemed to age thousands of years in a few seconds. "You have my blessing. May the gods be with you, m'boy..."

Percy sighed heavily, and let his eyes wander over the sea. Why hadn't Poseidon tried to contact him? Some advice, or even a little warning over his new cabin mate. "I hope so too, Chiron..."

He felt Chiron's heavy gaze bore holes in his back as he turned away.

* * *

><p><em>A young Hispanic boy on a golden automaton dragon screamed as they plummeted into the great snowy depths below in a whirl of plume and ash.<em>

* * *

><p>Annabeth.<p>

He needed to tell Annabeth before he lost it completely. They were slowly drifting apart, but Percy could not understand why. Whenever Percy had made a half-hearted attempt to speak with her, she got a distant far-away look in her eyes and Percy knew that she wasn't listening. After a few tries, he gave up.

He _needed_ to apologize to her. To tell her he was sorry for being so paranoid, and that he would always love her no matter what happened.

Percy knocked tentatively on Athena's cabin. There were a few shuffles and grunts from the inside, and the door swung open to reveal a bleary-eyed Malcolm silhouetted against the dark night. His blonde hair was flattened on one side, as if he had been dozing in his chair. "Percy! What are you doing here?" Then he looked around blearily. "Wha—where's Annabeth?"

Thoughts, broken like kaleidoscope glass, tumbled in his mind for a fraction of a second. "I thought she was with you," he said softly, trying not to jump to rash conclusions.

Malcolm's gaze turned stony. "If you—"

_"No."_ Percy snapped back irritably. "You know I wouldn't take advantage of her like that." Malcolm sighed, and ran a tired hand through his blonde hair.

"I know. I'm just... worried." He managed a twisted smile. "Odd, right?"

Percy scrutinized him for a fraction of a second, before exhaling heavily, feeling his breath fan out slowly over his face. "I don't know, Malcolm... I've been getting this nagging feeling that something bad is going to happen soon..."

Malcolm glanced around at his sleeping cabin-mates, one side of his face cast into soft illumination, the other into steep shadows. "Fine, tell you what. Give me a second to get changed, and I'll come look for her with you."

The door closed, cutting off all light and once more Percy was thrown into the darkness with nothing but his thoughts for company. Then Malcolm stepped out, strapping a sword to his belt.

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, before Percy murmured into the choking silence. "The sea is acting unusual tonight."

Malcolm regarded him with inquisitive grey eyes. "How so?"

"The tides are restless. Something is upsetting the sea."

Malcolm pursed his lips. "The gods have closed themselves off from the mortal world. Perhaps that is why."

Percy stared straight ahead, not blinking. "Maybe. I don't know. Why did they do that?"

The demigod shook his head, frustration marring his brow. He was so like Annabeth; they both hated not knowing something. "I don't understand. The closest I can figure is that something has disrupted the flow of Fate and the gods are trying to separate themselves from the problem. I—" He broke off, holding out a hand to stop Percy from continuing.

"What is it?"

"Do you hear that?" Malcolm had walked slightly farther ahead and was peering blindly into the underbrush. He stiffened, and looked away hastily. "Percy," he said, in a low, quick voice. "Turn around, now. Do as I say!"

_•••_

**Annabeth**

Lust consumed her mind. Her vision filled with fire, feeling the molten hot shivers lacing through her body. She _needed_ him, needed the friction between his hands as he kissed her roughly. Every touch sent electricity arcing through her body and the sheer euphoric ecstasy clouded her thoughts.

She felt Richard's hands trying to rip away their clothes and their sweaty bodies pressed against each other. She moaned loudly, hands clenching into fists in his hair. She wanted him, yes, more than_ anything_ she had ever wanted before.

But something felt wrong, so _wrong_—

If she had listened, she would have heard the rustle of the underbrush. She would have heard the underbrush being pushed aside. She would have heard the sharp intake of breaths.

"Annabeth..."

The girl's eyes flew open in alarm. What in hell was she _doing?_ Seeing the smirk on Richard's face, she slowly turned around and shook with fear, not fear that _he_ would hurt her, but the expression of utmost betrayal on his face, the unasked question.

_How could you?_

She did not dare to meet his eyes.

"Malcolm was worried. I suppose... I suppose we shouldn't have been." There was no quiver in his voice, no expression fleeting over that stoic mask. Turning on one heel, he stepped out of the small hollow. It was then that Annabeth found her voice and regained use of her legs. She untangled Richard from herself and pushed him away, running after the retreating figure.

"Percy, wait!"

His footsteps halted. He did not turn around.

"Yes, daughter of Athena?" His voice was emotionless. Only his eyes betrayed the truth.

_I trusted you. You betrayed me. _

"Please Percy, let me explain—"

His head tilted to one side and his piercing gaze made her suddenly feel like a very small child.

"There is no need to explain anything, daughter of Athena." She winced at the distant title and the fake smile across his lips. Tears sparkled in the poisonous light, unhidden in his darkened green eyes. "I completely understand."

"Trust me—"

His eyes turned the coldest shade of green, yet his voice was still cool and stoic. "Trust..." he mused. "What a player trust is. I understand now why Athena said to alienate myself from these feelings." His smile was bitter, hinting the pain in his voice as he turned away. "I understand now."

Tears coursed down her cheeks. "Percy, _please—_"

She reached out to clasp his hand, to _explain..._

But he was already gone.


	3. Dagaz (Inevitability)

**A/N -** This chapter is written in a series of timeskips, leading down to an inevitable conclusion. These are indicated by the pagebreak. This chapter is set on the final battle, and interprets a different, more sinister, meaning of the prophecy.

* * *

><p>Death has made its abode on my shoulders.<br>It clings to the palm of my hand eternally.  
>There's nothing but the darkness to guide the way.<br>There's nothing left inside.

–Ragnarok, Periphery

**Chapter II**  
><strong><em>Dagaz<em>**  
>∞<p>

_Rune for inevitability, awakening, truth._

* * *

><p>Percy wasn't sure what happened; all he remembered was a sickly sweet smell and the flash of darkness that accompanied it. He was supposed to leave camp that day, but someone had gotten him as soon as he stepped over the boundary line.<p>

When he regained consciousness, the first thing he was aware of was the thickness and sluggishness of his thoughts. His body was achingly sore, with each bump of the truck's wheels sending a jolt of numbness through his body. It was a relief when the vehicle finally stopped and stopped tossing him around like a sack of meat.

On hindsight, that was about as clear as his memories of that place got. He was blindfolded almost the entire time. But he did remember when they dragged him through a myriad of maze-like tunnels and threw him into a prison cell, too weak to be able to do anything but listen as the bars slammed shut.

Time passed; he was not sure how long. Without sight, he could only listen, day in and day out, the rattle of keys passing tauntingly over and over as the guards did their rounds. The air smelled like old rust and death, and Percy wished he could stop breathing altogether. It brought back memories (were they even _his?)_ of death and decay, of imprisonment and interrogations.

_"—tell me now... where is the key? I want the key—where is it!"_

_"...you'll never get... it, nice try. Even Nyx hits... harder than you..."_

Percy pressed his bound hands to the wall, wincing as the cuffs flared against his bruised wrists. The icy cold of the stones brought a flare of relief against his inflamed skin —his captors hadn't exactly been gentle.

Then his fingers grazed against a rupture in the gritty surface.

A small groove was carved into the stone, one pitted from age and the elements. Frowning, he traced it with a finger, wiping away the grime accumulated after decades of disuse.

A triangle. A Greek Delta.

Daedalus.

The Labyrinth.

While once it would have turned blue, the Labyrinth had collapsed. He had done it himself, effectively cutting off his only escape route.

Percy sunk back onto his heels, mind whirling. He wasn't stupid, no matter what everyone else thought. He could remember Annabeth telling him about this place last year, when they went to rescue Briareus.

Alcatraz. He was in a prison cell on an island —why couldn't he feel the sea?

With that in mind, why couldn't he feel his legs? With rising alarm, he realized he couldn't feel _anything._ The sickly sweet scent was back, and Percy tried to hold his breath, but it wasn't enough...

_•••_

The next time he opened his eyes, he could catch vague flashes of minor gods in white lab coats looming over him, a sadistic gleam in their eyes as they held some sort of _needle..._

His face scrunched in confusion. If the gods wanted something, why did they abduct him instead of just informing Chiron? That was the way things were usually done.

...and why was he chained to the wall? What was going _on?_

He tried to ask, but the things he wanted to say only drew up blanks in his head. So instead, he settled for a typical where-am-I, registering with some alarm that his words came out slurred and incoherent.

He tried to reach out to the gods, and there were some he recognized. Morpheus, Hecate, ones he'd seen the first time he had gone to Olympus. Instead of an explanation, they only sneered and gave him a look of hatred. Percy's words died in his throat.

Morpheus, with his ever changing face, spoke first.

_"Don't you see? We hate your kind. But we cannot deny the power demigods hold. So we will make them ours, and you will be the first."_

The treachery of the minor gods struck him like a hammerblow. In his brief moment of shock and confusion, he didn't resist as the needle was jabbed into his left arm. Morpheus pressed down on the plunger, making ice rush into his veins, replacing his blood with shivers and half-stuttered curses.

They tortured him first, trying to strangle out any information he had, but he only bit his tongue and screamed and cursed and hissed condemnations in Ancient Greek. As the pain steadily wore on his damaged nerves, the world dissolved into waves of multicolored blurs that were both condemning and beautiful at the same time.

That was the first time he saw Death.

"Are you going to take me now?" he croaked to her, feeling his voice rasp in his throat. He collapsed against the restraints binding his wrists and ankles, too tired to defend himself. "'Cause, you know, if you are, could you make it quick? 'M kinda in the middle of something here."

But Death only smiled in amusement —somehow he'd always known she was female, though no one believed him— and shook her head. When she moved closer, Percy could see his reflection in the silver of her scythe.

"No," she murmured, almost fondly, tracing the contour of his face with a single finger. A shiver tingled down Percy's spine, and something inside him seemed to call to her. "It's not time. Almost. You'll come home soon, my Champion. Soon."

And then her sharp nail pierced the skin over his heart, and he screamed as a jolt of electricity shocked through every nerve, every muscle. Through the haze of pain, he could see Death give him one last look and a cold smile.

_"Take my power and defend yourself... I give you permission to kill them all."_

He didn't know when it started to happen, only that when the results started to rear their ugly heads it was too late to stop. It started with a slight burning in his eyes, like the time he'd gotten soap in them. Percy blinked, trying to make the feeling go away. But the pain grew steadily worse, as though an invisible railroad spike had been rammed into his temples.

The peaceful lethargy was broken in one pain filled scream.

_"—side effect... keep him still..."_

Everything exploded into red. His heart was beating too fast, too fast for his chest. It felt like someone was trying to pull out his spine by ripping it out through his body. Everything hurt, hurt so much.

His eyes snapped open. The world seemed brighter, clearer than before. It was as though he could see everything for what it was for the first time in his life. Like a veil had been lifted from his eyes.

His gaze shifted to Morpheus, who was frozen with an expression of petulance on his many faces.

And suddenly Percy hated him, more than anyone he'd ever hated in his life, except for maybe Kronos. He wanted to make the god _hurt,_ to show him how it felt to have everything you knew ripped away from you.

And his eyes burned. They bled.

_Die._

Abruptly, Morpheus doubled over, gasping and clutching his torso. Percy was sure he would be screaming if his throat hadn't seized from the pain. His fingers scratched at his face, gouging deep trails into his flesh as though he was trying to rip off his skin.

Percy supposed he was supposed to feel horrified, or maybe pity. None of these occurred. There was only a dark, hollow kind of hunger to see him suffer. To see him reap his due.

He could see Hecate casting spells furiously at his back, but they all splashed off against his skin, dripping to the ground in a myriad of multicolored lights. He raised an arm, batting her to the side with a flick of his fingertips. Her head slammed into the soundproof wall, leaving a trail of bleeding ichor smeared against white paint.

"I'll show you why Poseidon is feared," he growled. Something inside him had reawakened at Death's touch.

And never more had he felt more alive.

_•••_

It had taken five Titans to subdue Percy before he ran out of power and collapsed, the hellfire burning around his feet extinguished.

_•••_

The next time he awoke, Percy was back in his cell. No one had blindfolded him this time; presumably, no one had dared.

He could see the world in perfect clarity, could see every streak and vein in the stone walls. He could see the blood vessels on the guard's face when he scurried by, throwing Percy a nervous look over his shoulder, as if Percy was the big bad monster under the bed of a five-year old. Amused, the demigod gave the man a sadistic, wild grin, one that made him look completely and utterly insane (well, he wasn't far from that anyways, so he might as well enjoy it).

The guard squealed like a pig, bolting past with Percy's laughter echoing after him.

_•••_

They never took him to interrogation again.

_•••_

He sucked in a sharp breath at the broken bow and frightened eyes. They were familiar in a dreadful way.

"Percy?" Michael Yew rushed to his side, babbling incoherently. He reached through the bars, fingers blisteringly hot against his icy skin. "Where were you? What's going on? Chiron's looking for you, you know. Where are we?"

Percy only winced, raising his icy gaze to meet the son of Apollo. Michael gasped, dropping to his knees.

"What... what did they do to you?" he demanded, his hands flitting over some of Percy's more severe, but not life threatening wounds. The minor gods had learned well. They had been trained in the art of inflicting pain. He almost felt like congratulating them.

Percy brushed off Michael's concern. "It's nothing," he murmured. "Long time ago, anyways. Think we're in Alcatraz. San Francisco. How's the camp?"

Michael bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he debated whether or not to tell Percy. "It's been attacked..." he said hesitantly. "Many of the demigods blame you for leaving instead of defending them. I know—" he cut in hastily, when he saw Percy's rapidly smoldering expression. "—they're a bunch of fools. The counsellors are on your side, and so's Chiron. He's been trying to calm them down, but Kronos's been incorrigible as of late. He's flaunting the fact that you joined him on your own free will. A lot of people believe him, because even though he's Kronos, he can be so persuasive. And attacks have been increasing. They got me when the Hephaestus cabin blew up the Williamsburg Bridge with Greek Fire. The monsters aren't staying dead for long. Hades says there's some lieutenant of Death missing, and she's been really mad about it."

Percy jerked up at the mention of the Ancient, but Michael's eyes were unfocused as he recanted his tale.

"We're not sure what's going on; Morpheus and Hecate, along with many of the other minor gods have gone missing. Zeus accused them of treachery, but he's always been paranoid, you know-"

"He's right this time," Percy interrupted. "The minor gods have betrayed Olympus."

Michael's brow furrowed in surprise, flinching as Percy bared his teeth in a feral grin. "How do you know?"

The demigod braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the answer.

"—I killed them."

Michael's eyes widened, jerking back in surprise. "W-What?" he stuttered. "You... them... _how?"_

"Well," Percy amended, his grotesque smile dropping slightly. "I haven't seen any of the others. I've only gotten Morpheus and Hecate. They were interrogating me, but I got to them first."

Michael shivered, but he seemed to take the news better than Percy would have expected. "Well..." he forced out, giving Percy a half frightened, half awed look. "Sometimes, I'm really glad you're on our side."

_•••_

When the Titans decided to see him again, they had learned to keep their distance. A few laestrygonians approached him cautiously, circling him while Percy crossed his arms and watched with amusement.

"Well?" he drawled. "What do you want?"

Percy allowed them to cuff his wrists to the wall, putting up little resistance as the giants cheered and bellowed like they'd done something incredibly heroic. Foolish. If he tried, they'd all be a smear against the floor.

The demigod tested out the chains, pulling at them. He suppressed a wince as it immediately started to suck in his energy, draining it away. Percy let his head drop down in a deceptively fatigued position, lolling against his chest as though he didn't have the strength to carry on.

Hyperion was the first to speak. He sneered viciously at Percy, fingering a long, blacksnake whip lovingly. "I'm going to enjoy this, brat," he growled.

Percy kept his eyes closed. "Does it stroke your ego to pick on those weaker than you, Titan? Perhaps you're trying to compensate for a lack... elsewhere."

The first lash came down, the whip hissing through the air, reminiscent to its namesake. Blood welled from the wound, but Percy didn't even flinch. "I'm waiting for an answer. Choose your words wisely."

"I am the Titan of the East! I shall not be toyed with!"

"Is that so, nephew of mine?"

Hyperion paused in incredulation, before bellowing with laughter. Percy eyes were still closed, but there was a taunting smile on his lips.

"Delusional!" the Titan sneered. "I am a _Titan,_ mortal! You shall bow before my power!"

The arrogance was staggering. Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you sure you want to get into a power fight with me, _nephew?"_

"Do your worst," Hyperion growled, drawing a massive sword. He began to glow with a blinding golden aura. "I've been waiting to tear you apart for a_ long time."_

And in that instant, he knew he had said something wrong. The smile died on his lips as Percy's eyes snapped open, wild and insane.

"So be it!" he hissed, his voice dark.

Energy burst into the chains binding his wrists, breaking down the barrier holding it back. Hyperion began to laugh, but immediately stopped when the metal began to flare red-hot, black hellfire flickering over the chains.

Percy examined his wrists with a bored expression, noting the warping chains that were starting to spontaneously combust. He was overpowering the bonds.

Hellfire exploded. Hyperion sucked in a sharp breath, quickly drawing on his own energy to send forth the fire of the sun. But the shadows clamped down on his aura, draining the warmth from his body and replacing it with a bitter cold.

Percy stepped through the twenty-foot tall flames calmly, brushing off the remnants of the twisted metal and flames dancing over his skin. His head was down, the dark light cast by the flames throwing most of his face into deep shadow.

Hyperion roared in challenge, brandishing his broadsword, but there was a flicker of fear present in his eyes. He tore away from the whipping shadows, fire racing forward at his command. Only then did Percy looked up, surveying the situation with a bored expression that made Hyperion's blood boil. He flicked his hand lazily.

Before their eyes, Hyperion's sunfire started to warp in on itself, being consumed with darkness until it crumbled and reformed as hellfire. Percy gave the Titan a slow, mocking smile.

"Still think you can defeat me?" he drawled, finally opening his eyes. Hyperion staggered back, his terror blatantly showing now. Percy smirked. "After all, I _did_ teach you all you knew."

"Erebus," Hyperion breathed, stumbling until his back crashed into the wall.

Percy dipped his head, eyes redder than blood and twice as cold. A small smirk curled one side of his mouth. "Guilty as charged."

He advanced slowly, footsteps echoing on the bare linoleum. Hyperion screamed as the darkness pulled his elbows and knees into the shadows, binding them with tendrils of smoky fire, exposing his chest and neck.

"They won't hear you scream," Percy-Erebus told him softly, cocking his head inquisitively. His expression was deceptively innocent, contrasting sharply with his words. For the first time in his life, Hyperion felt fear.

"You're _mine."_

_•••_

He returned to his cell covered in blood.

_•••_

Percy stretched, grimacing in pleasure as his back cracked. In the cell beside him, Michael gave a start.

"You're awake..." He observed Percy with a terrified look. All of the ichor staining his clothes and skin must have made him a formidable sight. "What... what happened?"

Percy shrugged carelessly, curiously fiddling with the numerous locks that adorned his prison door. "Hyperion happened," he said idly, holding out his hand as though expecting something. Michael gave him a confused look.

"What are you doing?"

"We're breaking out today. I'm getting bored with this place. There's nothing else to learn."

Michael gaped as Percy's hand glowed black, flames starting to spin on his palm. In a few seconds, hellfire coated every surface, licking up the stone walls, melting the metal bars into a puddle of molten fire. Percy gave him a sideways look, shaking the son of Apollo out of his flabbergasted shock.

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

_•••_

Outside the prison, being chased by monsters —and a flying pig; wherever had that thing come from?— Percy paused by the water's shore.

"Hang on a second," he told Michael, who looked at him like he was crazy, but nevertheless obliged. Percy turned back to Alcatraz, giving the prison a look of loathing. He pointed a finger in the building's direction, shadows drawing across his face.

Black flames exploded, illuminating the night sky.

_•••_

If the light played on them just right, Michael could swear that Percy's eyes flared red.

_•••_

Percy stumbled as soon as their feet touched ground, coasting in from the black waters. Michael yelped and caught him before he could crack his head.

"Percy?" he said frantically. The son of Poseidon waved him away, one hand pressed against his temple, his whole face a grimace of pain.

"Fine," he gritted out. "Just tired. Call the Gray Sisters. Get us to Camp."

Michael gave him one last sidelong look before he turned to the pavement, throwing a drachma and summoning the Taxi. The ground bubbled, fizzling molten hot before the worn gray car appeared, with "Gray Sisters" proudly emblazoned on the side.

The Sisters themselves hadn't changed in the three years that Percy hadn't seen them. They were still squabbling over the tooth and eye, bickering and nearly killing them about a hundred times. It was at times like this that Percy thanked the gods for small mercies.

But when they passed the "Pick Your Own Strawberries" sign that adorned the entrance of the camp, Percy immediately took that back.

"Hurry," he snarled, and whichever one was driving (really, the shriveled old hags all looked the same) stepped on the gas, sending them barreling for the entrance at ninety miles per hour. Michael clutched desperately at the armrests, wincing as his head smashed against the window for the nth time.

"What do we do?" he asked breathlessly, the fires burning down the camp reflecting in his glassy eyes. Percy scowled.

"Son of Poseidon," he reminded, pointing at himself. "I'll deal with the fire. You find Chiron and try to explain what's going on, if you can."

They jumped out of the Taxi before it was fully stopped, sprinting up Half Blood Hill at speeds that would have done the dryads proud. The steep ascent was grueling after months of imprisonment.

"Keep going!" Percy shouted to Michael, who swallowed and nodded. He turned and ran towards the Amphitheatre, where clusters of demigods were holding back hordes of monsters.

Percy ducked as a fireball exploded over their head, sending up a stream of hellfire to capture it before it did any more damage. A quick glance showed him that he hadn't gained too many spectators, but one could never be too careful. He ran into the woods, where campers were too preoccupied with putting out the flames than to notice a deeper blur speeding past.

The dirt and rubble of the forest rapidly gave way to soft dunes of sand, but Percy didn't stop until he was knee-deep in water, the waves and eddies pushing and pulling against his skin. He allowed himself a small smile of content. Drawing on his last reservoir of strength, he clenched down on the tugging in his gut, forcing the water to obey his will.

All around him, droplets of water were slowly rising, twisting together to create a funnel of hellfire and seawater. Percy gritted his teeth as the tugging became sharper and stronger in intensity, almost bringing him to his knees. With a last Herculean effort, he pulled the remaining water up and _threw_ it at the camp. His left hand was shaking uncontrollably as he gritted his teeth and clenched it into a fist. Energy crackled statically at his feet, stippling up Riptide like trapped lightning.

"I know you're there," Percy said, his voice dangerously pleasant. "State your business, Titan."

A dark chuckle; the Titan's form stepped out of the shadows. "Oh well done, little demigod. I'll admit the rumors of your recent growth in power was not overly exaggerated."

"Huh, hello again, Bob. I guess they finally cured your idiocy, though I'd have thought it impossible."

Immediately, the Titan's visage twisted into a heavy snarl. "How dare you mock me, demigod! I am the son of the great Titan of the Underworld—I am Menoetius!"

Percy tapped his chin thoughtfully, before shrugging. "Never heard of you," he said carelessly. "You must not be very important then."

In truth, he honestly had no idea who this Titan was, or if he even was one. On the other hand, he did look a bit like Iapetus, resembling him in the crooked nose (like someone had punched him in the face and it didn't heal properly) and the slanting eyes (almost like a fox's, or maybe that was his normal constipated expression).

That set Menoetius off, and Percy could almost see the steam blowing out of his ears. All around him, campers were finishing off the last of the monsters that hadn't been eaten by hellfire or washed out through the borders. Yellow dust coated every feasible surface, until they were more grime than human.

But they were starting to notice him. He could tell by the confusion in their voices, and the horror and anger once they recognized him.

Percy pushed down the anger threatening to break free. It didn't matter. He was only going to stay here until the Prophecy was fulfilled. Then they never need to see him again, and he'd make sure it _stayed_ that way for the rest of eternity.

"Okay," he said aloud, dodging the spiked club. "I've been called rash before, but _that_ just took the cake. You're either very stupid or very brave."

Percy raised his sword in a parry, staggering slightly at the sheer force behind the blow. He knew he was almost out of power. Already, his arms were beginning to feel heavy, and he was stumbling around more than he would like to admit. He could probably only summon one last bout of hellfire before he collapsed.

But he was Percy Jackson, and he was anything but expected.

In sixth grade, they were going over the human anatomy with Mr. Brunner—Chiron. At the time, he wasn't sure what that had to do with Latin, but on hindsight, maybe the old centaur was trying to prepare him for this.

"Tell me, Menoetius. How much of an immortal's body is made of water?"

The Titan bellowed something indecipherable, getting ready to smash again. Percy knew he couldn't dodge forever. His breath was already coming in sharp gasps, and the sea did little to help.

"Don't know?" Percy said. He clenched his teeth, holding out his hand and envisioned Chiron's cartoon circulatory system chart painted over the large form. "Well, I guess I'll show you."

His smile was sweet and dark, and fire smoldered behind the crimson pupils, burning, all-consuming rage that promised a slow death by his hand. In the dim light of the moon, he appeared almost ethereal. An avenging angel, perhaps; dangerous yet undeniably alluring. His hand tightened on Riptide, and the campers could see where the sharp bronze had started to whittle away the soft flesh, revealing dark blood within. Menoetius winced and he shied away from the jagged blade.

"έκτρωμα..."

Monster.

Something in Percy's eyes snapped, as if a barrier shattered to oblivion in a fraction of a second. His other hand tightened into a fist, and the campers watched in morbid fascination as darkness crept up the Titan's arm, spidery tendrils reaching higher, twining, twisting until the whole of his was encased with its hollow sheen. The web grew thicker and more heavy, and they watched as his body stiffened and blued, eyes blank and lips slightly parted as though about to speak.

But it was a pyrrhic victory, for Percy felt as though his head had imploded in a gruesome spatter of gore. The world spun. He reeled backwards, trying to regain his balance, but to no avail.

He remembered staggering to the edge of the beach, trying to force more oxygen into his deprived lungs. He wouldn't trust the campers any more than he would trust Kronos at the moment, and especially not in such a critical and defenceless condition.

His finger curled around his shoulder, where the Titan's giant sword had lodged to the bone. It was bleeding out through his fingers, and Percy supposed he shouldn't even bother.

Turning back slightly, he met Chiron's gaze. The old centaur looked stunned and proud, but worried at how dishevelled and jaded his student looked. Percy gave him a tiny, reassuring smile. It was nice to know that someone in this thrice-accursed camp still cared if he lived or died.

With that thought in mind, he let his arms open and fell backwards off of the deck.

Water closed over his face, dragging him down, and Percy let his eyes close.

_•••_

**Percy**

I haven't had nightmares since the Minotaur attack so long ago. Or maybe this wasn't a nightmare, but some sort of hallucination that my mind was dreaming up while my body floated off into the ocean.

But everything about it seems so _familiar..._

"Thanatos."

Something tells me that it is I the voice is speaking to, even though I have no idea who the hell Thanatos is. I turn to see the speaker, and somehow my lips move on their own.

"Strife."

Strife —_Phanes, _my mind supplies— fixes me under a frozen stare. There's something wrong with his eyes, something _missing. _"Delusion will be accompanying us as backup. Chaos' orders."

I scowl, but nod in resigned assent. "He does not trust us with the importance of the mission?"

Strife shrugs. I find myself studying him closely. "I do not believe it really matters," he says carelessly. An air of indifference hangs about him, as though the situation could not matter less. I tie the last strap down of armor, jerking on the ends more harshly than necessary.

My voice comes out sharp. "Get Delusion and we shall head on our way."

"No need," her voice breathes by my ear. She takes great pleasure in attempting to make me flinch. "I'm already here."

I push her off of me, careful not to expose the bandages wrapped around my chest and half of my arm. Hopefully, they have not leaked through. That would be troublesome to explain, and not a conversation I was particularly looking forward to.

"Let us proceed."

Strife walks in the front. I lag behind.

"I'm flattered you've taken an interest in me, 'Atos," she coos. My eye twitches. "Perhaps I may persuade you..."

"This is no time for your innuendos, Hemera," I whisper back. "There is something wrong with Strife."

She snorts. "There's always something wrong with that one. His mother must have dropped him on his head as a baby." She grins lecherously. "Now_, I_ would never drop _our_ baby... that is, after we have some fun first, of course..."

I resist the urge to smack my forehead. "Delusion," I mutter harshly. "I am serious."

"Well, I'm Delusion. Nice to meet you, Serious," she counters.

"Just... keep your eyes open, alright? I wouldn't trust him."

"Aw, you're _worried _about me, 'Atos? I _knew _you cared. But..." her voice hardens a bit, and leaks through that persona she insists on putting up. "I will do as you say. Watch your back."

We break apart.

* * *

><p><em>"Percy... Percy, wake up, you're safe now. I've got you..."<em>

* * *

><p>The mission continues without a hitch, and for a moment I entertain the notion that I was wrong on my suspicions. It's a pleasant surprise.<p>

"—stop."

I look at Strife from the corner of my vision. Delusion's eyes discreetly meet mine, before flicking away.

"Yes, Strife?" I say slowly. My hand is inching towards my knife. "Is there a problem?"

"There is."

"And?"

He turns towards me, and I'm briefly taken aback by the sheer outrage and hatred in his eyes.

"It's you."

* * *

><p><em>"I'm sorry I wasn't there... so sorry."<em>

* * *

><p>I don't have time to draw my knife.<p>

Delusion gasps, a faint sound. She's too late to stop the spear from piercing her through. She slides down the trunk of a tree, smearing the length with her blood.

Someone else screams with her. It's a never ending sound, filled with anger and regret and so much pain. It carries on and on and I realize that it's me.

_"Hemera!"_

Some part of me hopes against hope that she's still breathing. But I know that I'm deluding myself. She's gone. Cold and still, her lips are turning from pink to blue, her skin so pale underneath the grime and blood.

Something inside snaps. The connection. The bond has broken.

Strife turns again onto me. He looks feral. Rabid. Wild. Completely past reasoning.

"Now it's your turn."

I don't have time to block.

* * *

><p><em>"Percy... Percy... get the medic! We're losing him! Percy, listen to me... hang on..."<em>

* * *

><p>There's a sharp jolt of pain, and my eyes widen. Strife pulls out his sword viciously, kicking me down, and I can hear the crack as my head bangs against stone. It leaves my vision black, making the end all the quicker.<p>

The cold kiss of steel sears though my throat. I struggle to draw in breath, biting back a pained gasp as he kneels down, inflicting wound after wound.

"Beg," Strife demands, a note of rising hysteria in his voice. "Beg for mercy."

I spit blood in his face.

He wipes it off with a disgusted expression. "I never liked you, _General,_" he snarls bitingly. His face, once considered handsome by some, was contorted and ugly with rage.

"Why..." I rasp. My eyes close, head dropping wearily to the ground, too weak to hold my own anymore.

"_You._ It was because of you. Always so cold and aloof and so fucking _amazing_, looking down upon us lowly Primordials with disdain and inferiority. Like we weren't even worth your time. A prodigy, they said. But all of your intelligence and supposed skills didn't help you now, did it?"

I manage a weak smile, baring my teeth. They are stained red, trickling from the corner of my mouth, drowning me from the inside. The wounds I had sustained from the previous mission rip open until I'm sure I'm lying in a puddle of my own blood. "No," I say softly, "you were always the fool."

Strife snarls, a guttural, wordless sound of rage.

"You know what?" he spits out. "They're all going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. Order will reign once again, and Chaos will fall!"

I hear someone scream. It is indecipherable, and hardly matters. I think they're trying to say my name...

Then the blade swings down, and I succumb to the darkness.

* * *

><p>Percy woke with a start, flailing desperately when he realized he didn't recognize his surroundings. His heart roared, and there were tears pricking the corners of his eyes.<p>

Something moved to Percy's left, and he acted on instinct, uncapping his sword and pointing it at the figure in a flash of a second. Poseidon raised his hands, looking alarmed —but somewhat proudly— at the sword pointing between his eyes.

"Percy! It's alright. You're safe now."

Percy relaxed slightly, but didn't relinquish his grip on the sword.

"Dad?" he pitched his voice to be uncertain and afraid. The Poseidon-lookalike approached, his eyes worried.

"Are you—" he began, but in that instant Percy had melted into a shadow —when did he learn to do _that?—_ and appeared behind Poseidon, locking an arm around the sea god's neck.

"Three years ago, you sent me a letter. What did it say?" he hissed into his father's ear. When the god seemed too surprised to respond, Percy shook him slightly, pressing the sword a little bit harder against his neck. "Well?"

"Brace yourself," Poseidon stammered, breathing deeply as Percy abruptly dropped back. He really hadn't expected that from his son —what happened to the little boy that gurgled happily at everyone he saw?— and had been caught by surprise.

A little prickle of guilt wormed its way into his heart. Of course he couldn't possibly protect his boy (no, he was never _just_ a boy, never had been) forever, but it was his fault it had happened so fast. If he had found him sooner...

"Sorry, dad," Percy said, a hand rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The sword was once more out of sight. "I had to make sure."

Poseidon nodded, biting his lip. "I..." There were so many things he wanted to say bouncing in his head, giving him a headache, but the only thing that left his mouth was, "Chiron wants to see you."

Percy's expressive eyes closed off, and he smiled back so big that his eyes closed, but Poseidon knew it was only a facade, to hide the pain in their depths. He beat himself up in his head. '_Stupid, stupid,'_ he berated mentally, adding in a few punches for his big fat mouth.

Was that... disappointment in his gaze?

"Uh, yeah, Dad. I'll go do that." Percy started to slink out of the door. Poseidon swallowed down the bundle of nerves that was his throat.

"Percy?"

The boy looked back, and Poseidon felt a little bit older when he saw how bitter his son looked.

_'This wasn't supposed to happen... I was only trying to protect you...'_

"I..." he fumbled for words. He was still standing in the middle of the room, looking down at his hands in confliction. "I missed you. A lot. I'm sorry I couldn't find you before, but something was blocking it and Amphitrite was nagging and why am I talking about Amphitrite right now gods I'm such a fool—"

He was cut off from his rambling when Percy flung his arms around the sea god. Poseidon's eyes widened, and he looked down uncomprehendingly at the messy black hair —so similar to his own— that tickled his chin. Something in his chest tingled irrevocably.

_Never_ before had any of his children done this to him, and if any dared, he would give them a withering look that would rival Zeus'. He didn't show affection openly, and not even Triton had gotten so much leeway. But now...

After a few moments, he just smiled in content and put his arms around Percy, wishing they could stay like that for eternity.

_•••_

On hindsight, Percy cursed himself for his audacity, exhaling a small sigh. At least Poseidon hadn't turned him into a pile of seaweed. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, when he watched his father make a fool out of himself as he tried to explain (badly).

Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts out of his mind. From the bottom of the ocean floor, he looked upwards, where the light of day was smothered by layers upon layers of water.

Percy tensed his legs, kicking off and rocketing towards the surface as fast as he could go. Within a few minutes, the water had turned from greenish-gray to a velveteen blue that was rapidly growing lighter by the second.

Percy burst out in a huge funnel of mist, vaulting into the air and twisting so that he landed squarely on the surface of the water. He stumbled a bit, his feet tracing ripples over the surface. Rebalancing himself for a second, he started to walk to the shore of the Camp, which was a black streak in the distance.

He couldn't say he would be enjoying himself in that particular reunion. At least he knew Michael would try to assuage all of those gossipers after his blood.

Even at his slow pace, he reached the shore in less than an hour. Vaguely, he could make out Chiron's full centaur form skittering by the edge of the water, his hooves dancing back in annoyance as the water lapped at the edges.

An idea popped into Percy's head and he smirked mischievously, letting himself sink back under the cover of the ocean. With a few powerful strokes, he was directly under the protruding deck, glancing up at Chiron through the cracks of the wooden boards.

Percy swirled a finger, making a small geyser that exploded through the wood.

Chiron froze as he was thoroughly drenched, looking like a kicked puppy. Water trickled in small streams from his sopping form.

Percy couldn't help it; he snorted with laughter, jumping out from under the deck as the centaur grumbled good naturedly, shaking off the water in his hair like a dog. A reluctant smile took the heat out of his grumbling expression.

"It's good to see you again, child," he finally said, patting Percy's shoulder. "I've missed your antics."

_•••_

The campers weren't half as friendly. Even Chiron's encouraging speech did nothing to dissuade the distrusting glances and half-heartedly covered sneers.

Percy wondered briefly if he'd always been so blind.

_'Traitor... deceit... murderer... liar...'_

Words were carelessly flung over spiteful shoulders and hateful eyes filled with malicious glee. Gossiping campers watched him with a vulturous hunger and a twisted smile upon their lips, hungering like beasts for someone to tear apart. He paused for a moment, carefully blanked face unreadable, before blending into the crowd and was gone. Some stopped and pointed as they caught a flash of his dark clothes to point and sneer. Some of the younger campers went so far as to scream insults and throw stones, but they all crumbled to dust before they hit him.

It had been that way since the _'truth'_ had spread. But they would never understand the sheer _desperation,_ the _need_ to live to save his friends. No, the campers would never have a snowball's chance in hell, and yet they judge him based on their own narrow-minded stereotypes.

Percy kept his head raised proudly, quickly and swiftly surpassing the crowds and the accusations they threw upon him. He kept to the shadows, watching the campers carry about their daily business. He enviously watched children playing in the fields with a carefree, innocent nature he had never known.

They were so happy, so ignorant and Percy would kill to be one of them instead.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Not that there wasn't enough blood on his hands already.

The ones he'd once trusted to be his friends thought him heartless and cruel. Never had they been so wrong.

Sometimes his guilt was so strong that in those empty moments, a sob would escape his clenched throat, quickly stifled as he shoved his fist in his mouth and tried to focus hopelessly on anything other than the burning pain in his heart. Percy gritted his teeth together as breaths barely rattled through his clenched throat and lungs. Every pulse of his over-racing heart seemed to burn like poison in his veins, making his muscles seize.

He would give himself three seconds of weakness, before he banished the hurt and anger and replaced it with a cold, stony mask. For they would never understand, and after Death's gift, he knew he far surpassed them in everything.

Voices haunted him constantly, taunting, mocking, belagering him on his weakness. It had all been a lie. An artfully _twisted_ lie that sickened him to the pits of his stomach.

And so he trained.

It was a way to let out the pent-up anger building inside his chest. There was no one to talk about it to, and the idea alone was too absurd to even consider. He had become a foreigner to himself, and there was no point to try to regain that familiarity. And it was more often than not that he marveled on how he managed to survive for so long without being even_ halfway_ decent.

Luck, pure_ luck_ was the answer. But sooner or later, luck runs out. And without skill, everything eventually goes south.

His mind worked on autopilot. He'd long since stopped feeling _anything,_ heart blessedly numb and frozen and_ not all there_. Dried blood trickling in the shape of four crescent moons was etched on his deathly pale hands, resembling a grotesque tattoo. His unseeing eyes roved around restlessly, as though scanning for a nonexistent threat.

You can take the warrior out of the battles, but you can't take the battle out of the warrior.

Percy let out a bitter laugh as the people around him gave him mistrusting looks and moved away as far as they could in disgust.

Thanatos had once said to Strife, "Do you know what it means to kill? To have the blood of thousands staining their hands? Do not judge things you do not understand, lieutenant."

_(history had a way of repeating itself)_

Percy learned to trust his instincts. Natural selection had ensured that the ones who survived would be ones who could sense danger before it came. And ever since his imprisonment —he gritted his teeth tighter— the stank smell of rotting flesh and cold, unyielding stone filled his senses completely until he'd felt like drowning. Bile rose in his throat and he took a sharp breath, trying to clear the hysteria rising in his chest.

He'd escaped the prison, but not the prison in his mind. The nightmares continued, and more often than not he'd wake up with a fist in his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to staunch the screams. He was becoming more and more sure that they were memories. From where, he wasn't sure, but what he was sure he didn't have such a creative imagination.

His kidnapping had been a wake-up call for him. It had opened his eyes to the obscene cruelty of the world. The lines between the dark and light have blurred into gray; the only thing that mattered was a will to survive.

When had the world become so cruel?

But deep in his heart, Percy understood that it had always been so.

_(he'd just been too blind to see)_

_•••_

The carefully practiced script Annabeth had prepared was jumbled and mixed and went out the window.

Percy refused to meet her pleading eyes, deliberately keeping his slightly down. His gaze was trailing from the door to the window to the ceiling as though following an invisible bird. Annabeth's voice felt thick and hoarse. The silence was crushing.

"Percy..."

Percy silenced her with a raised hand. His body was turned away so that his hair fell across his eyes, obscuring them from view. "I know... I know you weren't in control of your actions. I know the two of you were drunk. There is no need to explain to me."

She could hear the strain in his voice, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Annabeth swallowed her pride — hubris was a bitter pill — and dropped to her knees in front of him, bowing her head down. Percy started in alarm and turned to face her. His eyes were haunted and dead; the eyes of a dead corpse, unfeeling, pained, _gone._ There was no trace of warmth, of love in his jaded countenance, no hint of compassion or recognition.

And that scared her more than any other monster she had ever seen.

"Percy... forgive me. I didn't want to hurt you..." Her voice trailed off as flashes of a blue eyed boy laughing with a dark haired girl haunted her mind. _"—we'll be a new family, Annabeth—"_ The laughter changed in sound to something ugly, marred, and vicious sounding in its bitter hatred. _"—why, Luke? You... promised..."_ She sucked in a ragged breath, closing her eyes against the bittersweet memories. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to resist. I'm sorry for hurting you so, and I will do anything to earn back your trust."

Percy said nothing as he dropped down and gripped her shoulders tightly. "Annabeth... don't beg me, please. It—" he trailed off. "I... this... oh _Hades._" He blew out a breath, fanning the hair out his his face in frustration. "It's just... you were my rock. My anchor to the world, and always there when I needed support. It pains me to see you like this."

Annabeth shook her head adamantly, brimming with furious tears. "Then why won't you look at me? Can't we put this aside and... restart?"

Their eyes locked for a moment, before his dropped back down with a pained expression. He looked bitterly numb.

"Annabeth... you don't understand. I've already forgiven you, but I won't be able to forget. This would be a memory I will carry for the rest of my life, short as it may be. I can't look at you now without seeing _Richard_. It's like..." He gestured helplessly. "Like glass. Once it's shattered, there's no way to ever heal the wound." He looked at her with such sadness in his eyes. "Maybe... this was for the best. I should have expected that life would not allow me to be happy. I cannot even guarantee you a lifetime. My destiny was not one of comfort or warmth, but of war and blood. Because that's my purpose, right?" He laughed humorlessly. The sound was frightening. "Kill the Titans. Save the world. I'm not... supposed to try and be loved."

Every word was a stab wound to the heart. "What... what do you mean?"

"I... do forgive you, Annabeth. But loving others has only caused too much pain and sorrow, so I will stop loving other people. From now on... " He trailed off, but Annabeth understood. Her heart plummeted like a lead weight.

"Won't you be lonely?" She asked in a soft voice.

"Probably," His hand rested on the door handle, pausing. "But you can't avoid pain in this world. And I think it would be better to be lonely than hurt like I am now." He looked back one last time, a look of farewell. "Goodbye, Annabeth. I hope life treats you well. I'm sure... I'm sure you'll be a wonderful architect and mother one day."

The door slammed shut. Annabeth was all alone.

"You're a fool, Perseus Jackson," she choked out bitterly, tears running down her face. A trembling hand stretched out to touch the coarse wooden door. "A fool."

On the other side of the cabin, Percy clenched his hands into fists and rested his head against the unyielding wood. "I'm sorry, Annabeth," he whispered leadenly, feeling his heart shatter. "I know."

_•••_

Nico was staring at him with worry, his dark eyes piercing.

"Percy, are you okay?"

Even from the shadows, Nico knew he didn't imagine the flinch. He watched as Percy gave a half smile to him, eyes tired and sad.

"Sure, Nico. Just stressed, but I'll be fine."

Nico glanced worriedly behind him as his cousin disappeared and mixed in with the civilians. He knew he was hurting, but did not know how to comfort him.

"Don't keep it all to yourself, Percy," he whispered. "Holding grudges is a Hades thing."

_•••_

Tyson had returned from the undersea forges for a small break, or so it was _officially_ stated. Percy understood the hidden reason, that his brother was suffering from the clenching grasp of nightmares. More than once he'd had to wake up the screaming cyclops from the bout of a violent dream, but at least it gave him something else to worry about apart from his own visions. He smiled thinly at the irony, and wished there was someone _he_ could confide in.

But now Tyson wouldn't let go of him, sobbing wretchedly and squeezing his arms around him tighter. Percy winced as a few of his ribs groaned from the pressure. "Ty-son," he gasped. "Nee-ed-air—"

His giant half-brother withdrew reluctantly, pink apron wrinkled and completely soaked with tears. "I am sorry, brother," he sniffled. Percy couldn't find it in his heart to be mad at the big guy.

"Tyson..." He frowned slightly. "Er... you're being awfully clingy the past few days. Not that I mind!" He added hastily, when the cyclop's eye swelled with tears. "But is something wrong?"

He twisted the apron's cloth in his hands tightly, looking down. "I... bad feeling... brother leaving..." He suddenly looked up, a desperate note in his face. "Do not leave me!"

Percy patted his back soothingly, trying not the voice the contents of his last nightmare. "Hey, big guy. You can't get rid of me that easily."

Tyson sniffled, wiping his nose with a hastily protruded handkerchief. "You promise? Promise me, brother!" Percy didn't understand what had shaken him up so badly, but nevertheless sighed patiently and conceded.

"I promise I won't leave you. I'll always find a way back home. There, happy?" He rummaged in the drawers, before coming across a stash of roughly sealed plastic jars. "Hungry? I've got—"

Tyson crowed in delight. "_Peanut butter!_" Percy didn't see the two-hundred pound cyclops coming at him until he was smashed into the floor, thanked fervently and crushed halfway to death.

For a moment, he could almost pretend that it was before the war, before all the troubles and deaths. For a moment, he could forget about his burdens and nightmares and just be... _happy_. The emotion felt foreign in his chest. But on hindsight, he reflected bitterly that he should have known that it wasn't going to last.

The sky seemed to darken with shadows and bloodlust. Screams saturated the air, mixed with the battle roar of monsters. Campers and Hunters poured out from the Empire State Building, all hastily dressed in bandages and partly destroyed armor. A conch shell blew in the distance.

Tyson looked down at him, his one eye full of childish seriousness. "Peanut butter later. We go smash now."

_•••_

Percy knew in his gut he would be too late. He knew he'd lose them. Rage and crippling guilt soured his mouth as he cut down an armor clad demigod with no mercy in his eyes. He dodged a longsword slashing the place where his head would have been and pushed the man with his shoulder, toppling him off balance. The man staggered back, and then Percy's sword was flashing as it found its home in the enemy's throat. He ripped it out with a single swift motion, deaf to the man's choking scream and the gore that sprayed up like a broken pipe.

Time was passing quickly. Too quickly. He looked around wildly, for any sign of his friends. He didn't think he would be able to stand it if his dreams became reality.

A scream shattered the chaos in the air.

Percy spun around, his cloak brushing against his knees at the movement. His eyes spat green fire, daring anyone to even _touch_ them...

He turned around in time to see Annabeth fall.

_•••_

Blood.

He could smell it everywhere, the smell of death. On him, coating the burning buildings, and leaking sluggishly out of Annabeth's body as he tried desperately to quell the ooze. Her skin was cooling rapidly, paling before his eyes as Death claimed Annabeth for his own. Percy could see the darkly cloaked figure, a pale, thin hand slipping out of the wide sleeves, reaching_ out..._

"Annabeth!_ Annabeth!_" He shook her roughly, blinking away the vision. Gray eyes fluttered open weakly, fixing on his blurry form.

"Per-cy..." Annabeth choked, blood staining her whitened lips crimson. "I... sorry..."

_"—blood... so much blood..."_

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said vehemently. "You're going to make it, then you can beat the shit out of me for being such a bastard to you."

Annabeth's eyes were turning glassy, unfocused. "I... will a-always..."

Percy sealed her lips with a kiss. "I love you, Annabeth Chase. I will until I die. I'm so sorry."

Her sight went dark, but she still stared stubbornly at the place where she knew he was to be. "Forgive me, Percy... move o-on..." she breathed. A trembling hand raised itself shakingly to his cheek, and he gripped it tightly, as though it was he who was dying. She sucked in a painful breath.

"Per... cy..."

"I'm here." Tears fell freely from his eyes, landing on her still form. It was as though a dam broke, and all of his pent-up emotions melted in the onslaught.

It was not long before Annabeth's hand dropped away and she went limp in his arms.

"No... !" Percy shook her desperately. She looked so peaceful, like she was only asleep. "No, please! Please! You... you're not leaving me! Annabeth, wake up, wake..."

Somewhere along the way, he bit his tongue and was choking on his words, sobbing and trying to _wake her up and why wasn't she responding and he was crying oh gods she wasn't responding she isn't dead she isn't..._

Large hands crusted in blood tried to pull him away from her still corpse. Percy lashed out blindly, his weighted fist suddenly caught in a death grip.

"Percy... brother..."

He only snarled in response. Thoughts had long fled his mind, giving in to the animalistic feelings of hatred and sorrow. Tyson pushed him away from Annabeth gently, fixing him with a hard look when he fought to remain by her side.

"I will protect Anniebell," he stated firmly. "Brother will go help the others. I will protect her."

_"—my blood... so much blood... you killed me... I thought I knew you. I thought you loved—"_

__"—why... why didn't you save me?"__

He screamed in agony, throwing his head back as the sorrow consumed his mind. "It's my fault she's dead! I don't care if I follow—"

_Slap!_

A large, metal studded fist clipped him in the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. His eyes were wide with undelayed shock. "Tyson..."

Tyson cut him off, voice quivering with emotion. "No! Anniebell would not like brother to mope. She would not like you to be killed and I do not want to either!"

Percy drew in a shaky breath, his hands trembling from barely suppressed anger and rage. Tyson's voice made him pause.

"Brother... be careful."

His eyes softened momentarily, before they turned cold and unyielding.

_Forgive me, Annabeth, Tyson... I do what I must..._

"I'm sorry, Tyson. Take... take care of yourself."

_•••_

Kronos smirked as he licked the blood off his blade. The acrid taste filled his senses, and what was left of his host's mind shuddered with disgust. Then their eyes locked from opposite sides of the battle, green battling with goldened blue.

The Titan smiled maniacally, blood staining his teeth crimson. He could taste the fear tainting the air, and the scent exhilarated him. Olympus would be his.

The battle to end all battles had begun. And he would not fail this time.

_•••_

Nico could not remember the last time he screamed. He always tried to be strong, for himself and for Bianca, and later on for Percy. But Fate was a fickle thing, and had decided to leave him alone in the world once more.

He could only watch as Kronos flashed behind Percy. He could only watch as Percy lurched sickeningly, blood dripping slowly from the tip of his sword.

His eyes flew open as a look of disbelief and confusion passed over his face. He glanced down at the sword sticking grotesquely out his chest, but looked more astonished than in pain. Kronos drew his hand back, yanking the sword out; as if it were the only thing holding him up, Percy dropped to his knees. Riptide slid from his grasp and hit the bloodstained earth. He looked at Kronos questioningly, and his eyes started to roll back in his head as he fell.

Nico howled like a wounded animal.

He flung his opponent to the ground, viciously tearing off its head, but just as soon as the space cleared more filled its place. His brain was numb with undelayed shock. _Percy couldn't be dead. Not dead. Not dead. He promised._ This was his invincible surrogate brother, the one that always seemed to bounce back from danger, from death. The one Nico hoped that his father would never get his hands on, because he would kill himself if he failed to protect his last precious person.

Percy was barely breathing now, his breath a shallow rattle. His eyes fixed on Nico, and there was nothing in them except empty, hollow pain. Nico could see his spirit fading before his eyes and screamed aloud in despair. _"Run,"_ Percy tried to whisper. He smiled painfully in farewell, but all that came out of his mouth was a hollow rasp.

_Perhaps... perhaps it will all end now. All the pain, the suffering._

"I..." he breathed, eyes unfathomably bright and glassy. "I don't — don't want to die..."

Kronos looked down at him. "It is too late to reconsider my offer. A shame. We could have ruled Death side by side."

Percy tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled and choked. "You... misunderstand me..." He rasped. His lips were stained red. "I don't want to... die w-without..." He took a faltering breath, and with the last of his strength, flicked his wrist in a single arc. "—without taking you with me."

Kronos stiffened—

The handle of Annabeth's knife protruded from his body.

_•••_

The world blurred.

Percy allowed himself one last smile, and his eyes flickered shut. He sucked in a rugged breath, and gasped as it tore at his chest mercilessly. His vision blurred and melded but no matter how much he blinked, the images would not focus properly. His face turned upwards to where he knew to be the sky, and half expected to see the looming figure of his father towering above him.

But there was no Poseidon, and no sky. Only a towering blackness. Suffocating. Trapping.

_(the Empire State Building turned black)_

His fingers curled into the silty earth, feeling the stickiness flood his fingertips. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did, because it had all been for naught.

A bitter smile twisted his lips and a choking laugh escaped. It sounded hoarse, bloody, and he could feel his life's blood ebb away.

_It is done. The prophecy is finished._

Another breath rattled in his body.

He wished he could tell them, to make them understand. They must hate him even more now, even though that would not be nothing new. They've always hated him, however much they disguised it with meaningless words and fake smiles.

Blood stained his lips and his breath caught; suddenly it was so much harder to get out. It would be better if he just stopped. _Everything was fading away as though a switch had flickered, and then he was falling, falling away..._

Percy took his last breath, shuddering a little, and then was still.

The air was rent apart by Nico's anguished scream.

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

Ms. Jackson,

Percy wrote this to you before... before his last battle. The world has lost its light today, and all of Olympus will mourn and forever remember his sacrifice. He has saved us all, saved humankind from eradication at the hands of the Titans.

But I know none of my words will ever compare to losing a child. Just know that we will remember him for all of eternity.

I'm sorry.

Chiron

_•••_

Mum... by the time you get this, I'll be gone.

The war is going badly. We've lost... so many people, so much hope. The gods are not going to arrive in time to help, and we are stranded on our own with the enemy is closing in. But that isn't what I meant to call about. I just... have the feeling that something is going to go terribly, terribly wrong.

I don't want to die yet, Mum. Is that selfish? I need more time...

They're all counting on me. I feel like I'm leading them into slaughter. There are thousands upon thousands of monsters coming around the block, and I... don't think we're going to make it out alive this time. Seems like my ill-fated luck has run out after all.

Don't grieve for me too much. We're all bound to die sooner or later, and with my luck it had just been sooner. But know that I go with pride and defiance to the last breath, and could not have been more proud to call you my mother.

This is the end. Take care of yourself when I'm gone.

I love you, Mum. Never forget.

Percy

* * *

><p><strong>End of Part I<br>_Reminiscence_**


	4. Thurisaz (Resistance)

**Beginning of Part II**  
><em><strong>Wanderer<strong>_

* * *

><p>My ship went down, in a sea of sound.<br>When I woke up alone I had everything;  
>A handful of moments, I wished I could change,<br>And a tongue like a nightmare, that cut like a blade.

–All Time Low

* * *

><p>"Damn you, Zeus. I won't let you do this to my son, so Chaos help me I swear... I swear you'll pay."<p>

**Prologue**  
><strong><em>Thurisaz<em>  
><strong>∆

_Rune for resistance, defence, destruction._

* * *

><p>The<em> first<em> time Percy died, he never expected it to be so... mundane. There was no Death with gleaming scythe in hand, no flashing lights, no coming to terms with one's own morality.

Just a flash of red, a choking numbness, a grim acceptance. _I'm really going to die this time._

And then the sensation of free falling overcame any last thoughts. He could feel heavy eyes resting on his back, but the only sight that greeted him was black.

It was beginning to drive him mad.

Not the ceaseless pit. Not the fact that time never seemed to exist. Nor the fact that it was taking_ forever_. But his ADHD mind, even in death, could not tolerate the _nothingness_ that this pit was consumed with. Not a sound, not the sight of another soul.

And then—

A cold, clammy hand pressed down on his shoulder, crushing down in a burst of strength. Spirits didn't _have_ bodies. Spirits didn't_ feel_ pain. But the sudden sensation of his arm being wrenched out of place was certainly painful enough.

A tall figure dressed in bloodstained golden armor smirked maliciously at him. In his free hand, he twirled a long, rusted scythe rimmed with blood.

_"Kronos..."_

A leer marred the Titan's face. Golden eyes stared at him like a piece of meat, ready to be distributed to hungry wolves. His head cocked to one side in an almost innocent expression.

"Hello, _Percy. _Lovely place, is it not?" Kronos spread his arms out wide, as if to emphasize his point. "The gods have certainly gone up and beyond to create my little prison here. It seems like my dear children has sent me a new playmate. It _does_ get _awfully_ lonely at times."

A sinking realization made its way down his throat.

"You mean..."

"Oh yes." Kronos's grin widened, showing teeth. "Didn't you know? This is no underworld. Hades himself does not dare to venture into my domains."

He paused, as if contemplating his own words. "How does it _feel_ to be betrayed by the ones you loved? How does it feel... to give up everything for them, only to have them toss you aside like a broken toy? Does it... _hurt?"_ Kronos licked his lips, as though savouring the taste.

Percy made no reply. His tongue felt wooden and dry. "You... you're lying," he managed to croak, feeling his throat tear in protest and his heart even more.

Kronos hnn-ed dismissively. "Choose to believe what you wish, but in your heart you know what has happened." A feral grin traced his lips. "No matter how much you deny, there is no escaping hell. There's no escaping—"

_You will always be trapped like this. You watch the others slowly wither to nothingness around you, and you will beg for death. But then it will be too late. There will be no going back. Life will always go on for the others, but you're trapped outside the realm of time. This is my curse to you, demigod._

_This will be my revenge._

His voice didn't feel like his own. It sounded dead and stiff, even to his own ears.

_"Tartarus."_

_•••_

Five days.

Or was it five years?

Kronos's taunting laughter made it hard to think.

He tried not to move the sword impaling him through. Blood dripped off the handle like rubies flashing out of the darkness.

This was all a mistake.

The gods would get him out.

_•••_

Six days.

Drowning. He was drowning. Where were they?

_•••_

Nine... ten? What did it matter?

The gods must have gotten delayed. They were coming for him. They wouldn't leave him to rot in this hellhole...

_•••_

Fifteen.

... would they?

_•••_

One year.

"The gods aren't coming," Kronos snarled, fingers curling possessively around Percy's neck. The weight of his hand was heavy and cold.

"They are." He tried not to flinch as his windpipe was slowly being crushed. "They'll come."

The Titan's face was startlingly clear, their noses almost touching. Percy could feel his hot breath fanning down his neck like acid, deceivingly cold. Kronos's grip only tightened. _"Fool,"_ he hissed. "I know the gods. They are selfish, uncaring, greedy... they _do not care for you."_

Percy's vision blurred, as though ink had gotten in his eyes and blinded him.

He didn't realize he was crying.

_•••_

Two years.

The coppery taste of his own life flooded through his mouth. A moment later, Kronos wrenched the scythe out of his body, watching impassively as the flesh slowly closed over again.

Percy remembered the old myth about Prometheus and the vultures. He couldn't bring himself to hate the Titan for turning against the gods.

So this was what it felt like to be killed over and over again.

Being left in the dark for so long granted him more than enough time to think. Some part of his heart still desperately grabbed on the the naiive hope of salvation, of freedom. But it his heart of hearts, he understood the bleak truth.

The gods wanted him to die.

_•••_

Three years.

Percy had never expected to contemplate suicide. As a child, he had always thought of going down fighting, saving the ones he loved to the last breath. It was heroic, brave... it was right.

But the dark changed things. There was no right or wrong, no life or death.

So on the fifth day of the third year, he slit his own throat.

_•••_

Percy didn't even remember hitting the ground.

_Cold, so cold._

A scream. Someone was shaking him. He wished he wasn't shaken so. There was no pain, but it kept him from the darkness that he yearned for.

"Percy..." The voice was thick was anger and desperation. Hands, gentle as butterfly wings, embraced him in their depths. "The monsters... what did they do to you? I'll... I'll —"

Poseidon's voice broke. Percy leaned into the sea god's chest, filling his nose with the comforting and familiar smell of the sea. He was tired, so_ tired..._

"Dad..." He gripped his father's sleeve weakly, feeling his entire body tremble. _"Please..."_

His grip tightened almost painfully. "No. You're not going to die now. We'll save you."

Percy felt bitter resentment bubble in his throat. "S'okay..." he rasped, feeling his eyes unfocus. "Th' dark... it's nice... pain... gone..."

He could see his broken reflection in the thousands of tiny silver lights in his eyes, scattering into the blackness, sparkling like a waterfall of precious gems. His breath caught; it was suddenly too hard to get out. It was so much easier just to stop. He felt himself falling away into the black abyss, the beautiful silver light still sparkling in his eyes.

_'Wake_,' a haunted voice whispered, the cold chill sending goosebumps down his neck. '_Awake, my champion.'_

"No... no, don't you dare give up on me Percy," His father's desperate voice cut sharply from the indelible darkness. The voice changed, becoming distinctly feminine in tone. "Don't you dare... damn you, Erebus! Breathe... _breathe!"_

As jaded green eyes closed for the last time, a pair of shattered ones flew open thousands of miles away. Redder than the blood that ran through their veins and twice as cold.

The woman... Percy didn't know where the name came from. Certainly he'd never met her before. But something compelled him to call out to her — a distant memory, perhaps? She was... familiar. Safe.

Red met blackened blue and their eyes locked.

The woman seemed to freeze, her breath catching in her chest as she seemed to wilt under his gaze. A trembling hand reached out, tracing the contours of his face as though making sure that he was really there.

Percy smiled. "Hello again, Nyx."

The Primordial cried out desperately as he began to shimmer, blowing away in the wind. He shook his head and reached out a hand, caressing her fingertips, before that too was pulled into the abyss.

'Remember me, sister... I will come..."

_•••_

Percy woke feeling lonelier and more broken than before.


	5. Laguz (Unknown)

Don't want your hand this time - I'll save myself.  
>Maybe I'll wake up for once<br>Not tormented daily, defeated by you  
>Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom<p>

I'm dying again.

–Evanescence

* * *

><p>Too late... too late to save him...<p>

But his eyes smiled sadly and conveyed what he could no longer put into words. 'Don't worry now, Dad. It's better this way.'

**Chapter I  
><em>Laguz<em>**  
>∫<p>

_Rune for the unknown, hidden, loss._

* * *

><p>Immortality was meant to be a blessing. But at times, it was more like a curse. A curse that had no cure; a poison with no antidote. Slowly poisoning him from the inside, killing off his heart piece by piece.<p>

Didn't the mortals know how _lucky_ they were? Why must they try with all their "technology" to find the key to everlasting life?

They did not know how it felt to watch every child of yours die slowly and painfully, begging with their eyes for you to save them. They did not feel the helplessness that accompanied the pain of failing one time after another. They did not know the consequences for immortality, and for their own sanity, Poseidon hoped they never would.

He swore to himself to never have children again. They did not deserve the burden and painful death that always seemed to come hand in hand with his bloodline. But he watched enviously as the other gods' children laughed and played in the mortal world, happy and oblivious to the inner turmoil it was causing him. Poseidon told himself that it was for his nonexistent childrens' own good and they would never have to grow up looking behind their shoulders for danger. And even though the gods were notorious for breaking their promises, his remained intact for seventy years. Poseidon dared to hope that maybe everything would be okay.

He should have known better than to tempt fate.

Because Sally had walked into his life, slowly edging her way into his heart. Zeus had scorned him, scoffing at how a mere mortal could have such power over the god of the sea. Poseidon had pushed back the bile in his throat and the vile voice whispering in his head. Selfish. Weak.

So he drew away, trying to keep his heart intact while he still could, running away from his problems like a coward. But something, almost like magnetism, drew him back slowly and inevitably.

He managed to keep away for two weeks. Poseidon went about his business running the sea with a numbed mind and numbed heart. Every spare moment of the day would be spent staring out into the tiny apartment and watching Sally. It made him feel dirty, like a, as the mortals so delicately put it, a creep. But she was so _beautiful..._

Poseidon had never realized that any mortal or immortal could be even more beautiful that her. That is, until he met his son.

He was a wrinkled little thing, easily dwarfed by his own hands. _One small squeeze was all it would take..._ his hand tightened on the child's neck. It would be merciful this way. He would never have to endure the life he was destined to live and the curse his own father brought down upon him.

He didn't want to do this...

...but he had no choice.

A demigod child with _his_ blood and_ his_ scent would be in danger because of the Prophecy. If Kronos or Gaea or even his _brothers_ managed to get their hands on his son, death would seem like a lover's caress for him. And at first he had been reluctantly willing to risk it. Not intentionally, no. It was only when his son opened his bright emerald eyes and grasped his finger clumsily with a happy coo that Poseidon knew he could never bring himself to harm the boy. A warmth had pervaded his heart that had so long remained icy cold, bringing a pure sense of... _contentment_ that was addicting in itself.

Love was a monster worse than any that walked the earth. For despite their vast numbers and various degrees of immortality, monsters are mortal and can be killed, if only for a short time, by a will of steel and justice wrought in the shape of a blade. But this growing... monster inside of him was unfathomable. He felt defensive, protective, and the monster within reared its head when someone got too close to his son. _His_ son. No one else's. _His._

He let out a bitter laugh and tightened his grip subconsciously, the little boy mewling in surprise at the sudden pressure.

Poseidon felt tainted. Greedy. Selfish. For killing someone so sweet and never hurt a soul in his lifetime.

But it was all better this way, he tried to reassure himself. It would be merciful to end his life by someone he trusts —his heart twinged painfully at this— than die by an enemy's hand and weighed down with the burden of knowledge.

But then he opened his little eyes, startlingly green against the pale white skin.

Poseidon felt his resolve crumbling at the sight of_ those eyes,_ _so much_ like his own. Instead of wailing, the child smiled toothlessly at him with an intense brightness uncommon for his age. The baby grasped his outstretched thumb like an offering and cooed happily. Dazedly, he wondered if the child had already comprehended who he was.

Poseidon felt dirty and so very, _very_ selfish. He _couldn't_ do this. He couldn't murder his own boy in cold blood. Poseidon flinched back as_ his darling baby_ —the words brought a thrill to his lips— snuggled trustingly into his chest.

"You shouldn't trust me so," he murmured softly into the downy hair. "It would bring you nothing but hurt."

The baby blinked sleepily at him, seemingly oblivious to the sea god's inner turmoil.

They sat there for what seemed like an eternity, though it would never be enough. He was just so perfect, so..._ precious._ So pure and innocent. Poseidon didn't want to think that he would be the one to taint that light.

Then all too soon he could hear Sally's breathing even out, her eyes slowly blinking open. And then Poseidon had dropped the boy and was backing up hastily, because he was a coward with no courage and no pride and couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye again, even if his heart was to survive shattering a second time.

"Survive, Perseus," he whispered.

There were no 'I love yous,' no sentimental farewell. Because he didn't think he could bear it if he'd become attached to his boy only for him to die, like so many before him. So he tried to isolate himself from that haunting gaze, so warm and so _beautiful._ Poseidon couldn't help thinking that he'd left a piece of his heart that night, trapped forever in the clutches of a green eyed babe.

But he didn't see his Percy again for six years.

_•••_

Poseidon was not a brooder.

But the urge to _go see his child and screw what Zeus thinks_ was overwhelming. Even though no one would want to screw Zeus. That was just disgusting. He'd never even known how Zeus had managed to seduce_ Hera—_

Fingers snapped loudly in front of his nose. Poseidon blinked, bemused, and looked up into his wife's angered eyes. Amphitrite's lips were curled into a sneer.

"I've been calling you for the last five minutes," she snarled. "We need to..._ talk."_

_Talk._ The word sounded foreign and alien. A talk with Amphitrite was never a good thing. _Unless_... it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice down his shirt. She mustn't know... she couldn't... if she _dared to hurt him_...

"I want to know where you've been going this whole time."

Poseidon's lips tightened. '_To watch Sally. Away from you.' _"Where I go in my free time is none of your business."

Amphitrite slammed her fist into the table. Papers spilled off the table in mutinous heaps as the inkwell upended and spilt its contents over the vastly important documents. Poseidon sighed and massaged his temples. He could feel a migraine coming up.

"None of my business?" she repeated incredulously, her voice several octaves higher and shriller than normal. "None of my _business? You_ are my husband! _This is my business! _I deserve to know if you've been goggling over some slutty mortal woman in your spare time—"

Poseidon bit back a growl. His knuckles whitened as his fingernails dug deeply into his palm, bringing blood. How_ dare_ she talk about Sally in that manner...

"And you do not count?" he retorted bitingly, trying to keep the red haze of anger from lashing out. "I seem to remember that child you mothered a while back... Richard, was it?"

"Oh, so now it's_ my_ fault? Suddenly _I_ am the villain? _I_ don't go around picking at_ every single child_ _you've_ sired—"

"Actually, _you do_. And end up killing them just to quell your selfish desires..." He turned, eyes blazing with barely suppressed rage. Power flowed off him like a second skin, and Amphitrite suddenly remembered why he was considered one of the Big Three.

"You want to know where I've been? Fine. You know what? I've been trying to get away from you. Every time I come home, it's either you or Triton or some other thing you wish to pick a fight on. And this... this is the last straw. I'm done with you and your excuses."

Amphitrite's shock melted to anger. "I swear... I swear you will rue this day, sea god. I swear I will make you pay in blood!" Her hands clenched and unclenched in whitened rage.

The door slammed shut.

Poseidon was all alone.

Papers splotched with ink stuck to the ceiling in haphazard patches. Glass was shattered on the floor like pieces of a crystal heart, too far broken to repair. The walls were closing in on him, squeezing-suffocating-trapping... he needed to get out..._ get out..._

He didn't realize what he was doing until he had crashed into the soft dunes of Montauk beach. Sliding down one of the aged wooden benches, feeling the rough splinters pull at his clothes, he let his head drop into his hands.

How did it come down to all of this? What... happened? It did not seem long ago in which he was vying for Amphitrite's hand in marriage. They were so in love... and then she changed. Or perhaps she was always like that, hiding her true self into the darkness. But slowly, their relationship deteriorated into nothingness.

A small hand tugged insistently at his sleeve, making him pause in his lamentations.

"Mister stranger sir," the voice was soft and childish. "Why are you sad?"

Poseidon tensed, but forcefully reminded himself that this was a young child. Not an enemy. "I'm not. I'm not sad."

He tried not to snap at the kid but was fervently hoping that he went away. The sea god was in no mood to deal with a sniveling brat.

Those large green eyes, reminiscent of storm waves, were large and understanding. "Mummy says it's okay to cry sometimes." He cocked his head to one side inquisitively. "It's okay to be sad. I get sad too because the bad man beats my Mummy. She screams and tells me not to come out. I get scared and climb under the bed. It's dusty there, but the bad man might get me. He won't go away. He's always there. I tried to make him leave once." The boy touched a heavy bruise on his throat and tried not to wince. "He hit me... really hard. Choking and suffo... suffocating me. I thought I was gonna die. Thought both of us were gonna die. I have trouble breathing now, but I don't tell Mummy, 'cause she'll get worried, and she'll be sad. Is it... supposed to hurt? My chest hurts too, over here—" He moved his small hand over his heart. "—because I can't stop the bad man from hurting her. I failed."

A single bright eye peeked up from under the mop of dark hair. "You will be able to help make the bad man run away? Please?"

With each word Poseidon had been growing more and more grief stricken. That was no life for a child. His own problems were forcefully pushed to the very back of his mind. "Let me see your wounds," he commanded.

"No... I... it's okay," the boy tried to back up hastily, eyes wild. "I'm okay."

Poseidon bent down slowly so he wouldn't frighten the child and stretched out his hands. "I can help you. To make the pain go away."

The boy shook his head adamantly. "I'm okay," he repeated. "Help Mummy. Mummy needs help."

"You first. And then I'll see what I can do about your mother." Poseidon tensed his legs, in case he had to pin the boy down. He was no medic, but gods damn it if he would let an unprotected and injured child go without treatment. To his surprise, the boy only shook his head sadly.

"I can't make it go away," he whispered softly. "The pain."

"Come here," Poseidon murmured insistently. "I can fix it."

"No." The boy smiled sadly, eyes brimming with wisdom that someone his age should not possess. "I need to fix my own problems. I can't rely on others any more." He paused, lips forming into a sad expression. "I used to have dreams too. But the bad man stomped them out. And then I would wish he would die,_ die..."_ The boy's fist clenched and unclenched. He continued in a softer voice. "I used to wish that my daddy would come back and save my Mummy and me from the bad man. It always happens in fairy tales, doesn't it? The knight saves the day..." his eyelids drooped. "But I'm beginning to think that fairy tales never do come true, and that we will never get a happy ending."

"Where is... your father?" Poseidon's voice felt thick. The boy's expression brightened.

"Mummy says he's lost at sea. But I think... I think he's fighting monsters and evil stepmothers somewhere, just waiting for the right moment to save us!" His shoulders slumped. "Or maybe he really _is_ lost at sea."

A woman's voice called from the distance. The boy's head shot up, eyes bright. "That's my Mummy! I have to... have to go..." He hesitated, unwilling to leave his newfound friend behind. Poseidon shook his head gently.

"That's your call. You have to go back to your mum now. I'm sure you'll be strong enough to defeat the bad man one day. I... believe in you."

The boy hesitated, his voice almost too far to carry. The sunlight framed his blackened hair and darkened green eyes perfectly. "Wait... what's your name?"

The thought of lying didn't even cross his mind.

"I am Poseidon."

"Oh." The boy grinned widely. Poseidon could see the gap where a front tooth was missing. "Nice meeting you, Po... Pofiedun. I'm Perseus! Well," he made a face, his cute little face scrunching up in consternation, "Mummy says it's to give me luck. I don't think it's working. You can call me Percy!"

"Nice meeting you too, Per—" The sea god's eyes shot up suddenly in agitation. He'd finally understood, too late. "Perseus, wait—"

But he was already gone.

Lost at sea.

_•••_

Percy was young, but not naiive. He had been robbed of that luxury long ago. And for this, Poseidon couldn't help but feel guilty, because he should have been there for them, rules or no. But he swore to himself to make it up to them.

_Ugliano._

The name filled him with loathing. A disgusting, slimy creature borne from the pits of greed and gluttony. One that deserved to _die_ for its misdeeds.

Poseidon could see the fat silhouette of the man from the single illuminated lamp in the room. His hand tightened around his trident. There would be no hesitation. He would not falter as his filthy blood stained his hands. Poseidon felt rather sorry for Hades, having to put up with this creature forever.

_'Maybe I can handle his punishment myself,'_ he mused. A wicked smile danced across his lips. Yes, that would be satisfactory. Maybe he could get Amphitrite to nag at him for all eternity. That would be a suitable punishment, if anything.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Rusty hinges creaked and groaned at the pressure. Floorboards creaked. The air was foul with the odor of rotten garlic and beer. Poseidon felt disgusted. Was this where Sally was living? A queen among women, living in a rat's dump? His trident flared in power, as though sensing its master's agitation.

A slow step.

_'Stop.'_

Another followed the first.

_'Desist, sea god.'_

His hand reached out for the bedroom door, the flickering light casting ghostly shadows upon the weathered wood.

_'Do not defy fate. The price will be high. It is not the mortal's fate to cease by your hand alone.'_

"He needs to be exterminated," Poseidon muttered under his breath. "He needs to _die."_

_'A life for a life. That is the Old Rule, set by the Ancients upon the consummation of the world. The mortal, in exchange for your son.'_

His hand paused on the doorknob. Poseidon's eyes flashed with anger and he whirled around to face the apparition of the Fates. A young woman with flaxen gold hair stood beside her sisters, cradling two balls of yarn in her hands.

_'Don't bring Percy into this! Whatever quarrel you have with me, you shall not take out upon him. I forbid it.'_ he snarled._ 'It is for his own good.'_

_'This is his life,'_ she said simply, raising her right hand. A pair of gnarled scissors appeared in her grasp. The edges were sheared razor-sharp. '_Would you chance to risk it?'_

Poseidon's face twisted and his lips tightened, but did not speak. He looked away. '_No,'_ he muttered reluctantly. '_Don't... don't hurt him.'_

The Fate —Lachesis— straightened and smiled amiably._ 'Now, was that so hard?'_

She sighed when he didn't answer.

_'We do not allow you to kill the mortal because it will interfere with the future. It will open a paradox, a different path set for the future where your son dies by the age of ten. The entire human race and the existence of the gods would be completely annihilated. That is what _would_ happen. Is that what you want?'_

Poseidon's eyes widened. Lachesis silenced him with a single hand.

'_However, another option lies in wait. But you will need to spare the mortal and make no contact with your son until he understands the truth about the gods and his destiny.'_

"I... I will," he murmured. "But keep... keep him safe."

The Fates' eyes seemed to glimmer with timeless knowledge. '_Only time will tell. However... tonight, we are tired. My sisters and I shall retire to our chambers. In the meantime, our eyes will be shut by sleep_.' She gave him a meaningful glance, and Poseidon could have sworn that she'd winked._ 'Teach him a lesson, no?'_

There was a flash of blinding white light, and then they were gone. Her last words lingered for a moment longer.

_(Móno o chrónos tha deíxei)_

Poseidon steeled his resolve and pushed down the door. "Katalavaíno."

_(I understand)_

He met Gabe's eyes. Piglike, beady eyes. They stared at him from under a mountain of chin fat, wobbling as he scrambled to reach a phone. Poseidon stalked forward, energy discharging from his trident with each step. This rat would pay.

"Help me! There's a crazy fork swinging Greek lunatic in my—"

Said "fork" smashed against the phone, its momentum pinning it against the wall. Sparks flew and the voices trapped within died.

Poseidon caught the meaty fist flying towards his face without flinching. "This was your hand," he said softly. Gabe let out a long squeal as Poseidon slowly crushed his bones into powder. He released it with disgust, and wiped his hand on his tunic. "And now it's not."

The mortal's face was turning a lovely shade of puce. "You... you bastard!" His voice was several octaves higher than normal. "I... I'll kill you!"

Poseidon whipped around. His eyes blazed with raw fire. "That was your final mistake," he snarled, digging a steel knife against his throat. Gabe stilled as blood trickled down in a thin line. Poseidon half expected it to be black with filth.

"Do you know who I am?" Poseidon's voice was the calm before a storm. "It is all I ask for you. Because now you are trapped like the rat you are under my mercy alone. I am not the forgiving type.

"You are lucky I can't kill you. You are lucky that the Fates will not let me. But if you dare, if you dare to lay a single hand on Sally or my son, I swear there won't be enough of you to scrape together. Look at me!" Cornered rat's eyes rose shakingly to meet his blazing green ones. "Do you understand?"

The mortal mumbled something unintelligible. Poseidon tightened his grip, the eager knife cutting easily into the meaty flesh. _"Do you understand."_

"Y-Yes," the mortal whimpered. A foul smell of raw sewage permeated the air, and Poseidon could make out the wet patch on the man's trousers.

Poseidon retracted the knife and stepped back a few paces in disgust. "Remember my name with every tick of your ill-lasting heart. Let fear consume your mind with every fearful step across the pavement. I swear... one day I will get you."

He smiled, a cross between a leer and a grimace.

"One day, you shall pay in blood."

_I will keep your promise, Percy._

_I swear it._

__•••__

For yet another six years, Poseidon watched from the shadows. For six years, he felt his son's pain from the outcast life he lived. And the god felt terrified that he was getting close with the boy. He didn't think he could stand watching him die and knowing that he had failed once again.

He recognized the satyr almost immediately. It was not hard to realize once he knew which traits to look for. The overprotective father side of him reared its head, to Poseidon's utter dismay. But he couldn't appear to his son, or Zeus would have put him in danger as a hostage.

And then the Minotaur. Sally. Camp.

It was just so... sudden. The events left him reeling in the aftermath.

He wanted to go after Sally, but Zeus had issued an ultimatum. Return his master bolt —_which Poseidon did not possess—_ or face an impending civil war.

It was not the way he wished to break the news. Even millions of miles away, Poseidon could still taste the disbelief, hurt, rage, and sorrow expressed clearly in Percy's eyes. He would never knew that the sea god cared so much for him. Percy wasn't a weapon to him. He was his son, his sole heir now that Triton had diverged.

But he could do nothing but wait and to watch.

He watched his precious son face off against legendary monsters with nothing but an ancient sword.

He saw the Furies try to kill him a second time. Hades was going to _die_.

Medusa, his once lover. What exactly had he seen in the woman? He harbored nothing but hate now. And so he felt rather amused at Aphrodite's shriek when her snake head fell through the package, a pair of sunglasses perched comically on her nose.

He listened as Percy prayed to him and leapt through the Arch, cloaked in flames. Ares was a traitorous, deceiving idiot that Poseidon would gladly pummel to pieces. No one liked him, so he wouldn't be missed anyways.

But Poseidon couldn't watch knowing that any unfavourable outcomes would be his fault. Damn the rules, he couldn't do this anymore. He sent a nymph to aid and to warn his son. He watched as Charon ferried them into the depths of the underworld, into the territory of his estranged brother. Where he could not protect them except through three milky white pearls.

Waiting was becoming one of his pastimes as of late. He hated feeling so... powerless.

But then the balance was righted once more and they were _safe._

Poseidon was able to speak with his son for the first time in six years. It was not a happy family reunion. Rather, it was one of wary distrust and bitter resentment. But he convinced himself that it would soon change.

For now, he made a promise he'd intended to keep. Medusa's head got its rightful use.

Poseidon decided that maybe she wasn't _so_ bad, after all.

_•••_

He watched as Percy grew up, his pride and joy. But the danger was always lurking, never too far behind. From betrayals to labyrinths to archaic monsters, each year was worse than the last.

But he survived, against the odds. And slowly, his sixteenth birthday loomed ever closer to the horizon like a death sentence. Poseidon tried to forget, but the pain never really left his heart.

He would always remember.

He would always remember how easily Kronos's sword slid into his gut. How red his blood was. How cold and still he was but he couldn't be dead because his son was invincible his little boy couldn't die he was going into shock this was all a lie it wasn't happening _he wasn't dead he wasn't..._

Cold fingers clutched his heart and squeezed.

Poseidon screamed.

_•••_

Three years passed in a blur. Nothing really registered with his mind. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Sally was distraught, and Poseidon had been by her side ever since.

He finally understood what little Percy had meant about his heart hurting so. Sometimes, at night, his guilt was so strong that he would bite down on his hand to stifle the sobs rising in his throat. The world had turned black and white and gray. The sun had set into his midnight.

_•••_

Nothing mattered anymore.

Could a dead heart ache?

_•••_

Hermes's hastily whispered message brought Poseidon's world spinning to a lurching halt. Percy was still alive. Weak, tortured... but alive.

In Tartarus._ Fucking Tartarus._

No. No longer. He would get him out. He would save his son if it was the last thing he would ever do.

They would pay for his treachery.

_•••_

The gates of Tartarus parted before him with a monotonous creak. Light was consumed by the darkness. Poseidon shivered. He almost thought he could hear the rasp of chains, of steel-like laughter resounding in the dank air, but it soon faded into an echo.

"Percy?" he called out blindly, searching fruitlessly with his eyes. His voice grew desperate.

There was no answer. Already, the darkness of the pit was starting to seep into his mind, pulling out the worse memories it could dredge up. It had only been a minute.

How did Percy survive _three years?_

He could be dying. He could be alone, starving, cold... but Poseidon was already three years too late. The air smelled of blood and acid. It was sickeningly easy to find the trail._  
><em>

Flickering torchlight caught the last drops of ruby liquid. Poseidon struggled to keep his food down. _Oh Hades..._

Percy lay in a pool of his own blood. Poseidon screamed in despair. _No nonononono this wasn't happening too still bleeding not again he couldn't fail his Percy..._

His son's body was twisted in an almost impossible angle, though his face didn't seem to register any pain. It was... peaceful, serene. Percy's eyes were half open and the surface was glassy and blank. He seemed..._ happy._

It was all too much. Too surreal. Poseidon lurched to the side and retched. He staggered to Percy's prone body, so small and still in death. "No... Percy..." His throat tightened unbearably and no sound came from his lips. "What... what did they do to you..."

Pale. So very pale and still. So cold and deathlike underneath his fingertips. But then dull green eyes flickered open and cleared slightly. His head rested limply against the sea god's chest as Poseidon held him close, like a drowning man's anchor.

"Dad..." His voice was rusty and cracked with misuse, and sounded so very young and vulnerable. Poseidon tightened his death grip._ "Please..."_

It sounded too much like a plead for death.

He was tired. So very, very tired. Poseidon could see the signs etched into his weary face, the lifeless eyes. "You're not going to die," Poseidon was trembling, his fingers shaking as he tried to protect his son. "I'm going to get you out. We'll save you."

A bitter smile cracked Percy's lips and his breathing evened out and grew shallow. "Too late..." he breathed. "S'okay... the pain... it's finally gone... free... flying..." His eyes slid closed and his whole body relaxed in Poseidon's embrace.

A moment later the light in his eyes died and he slumped freely on Poseidon's arm. His heart beat once more...

—and was still.

Percy was gone.


	6. Isa (Stasis)

**A/N**—I've been literally putting my muse through the ringer for this. It's so frustrating, because I can't seem to write anything these days. Everything that comes out feels vaguely unsatisfactory.

Tell me how I did, please? If only to soften the blow to my ego.

* * *

><p><em>"It's time to say goodbye.<em>_"_

**Chapter II  
><em>Isa<em>**

_Rune for stasis, preservation, stillness._

* * *

><p><em><strong>15,000 B.C.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Location: Battleground of Souls, Chaos' Dominion<strong>_

"I have a bad feeling about this," Erebus murmured under his breath. The jingle of the horses' hooves and armor drowned out his voice. "Like what they say about someone walking on your grave."

His lieutenant shifted uneasily. Seeing his blanched look, Erebus forced a quick smile. "I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just my nerves acting up again."

_•••_

"This has been an eventful week," he said to the men, a fake smile plastered on his lips. It's too brilliant and happy. By the Infernal, Erebus was never _happy._ He hoped they didn't notice the twitching in his muscles.

Nervous laughs. White faces.

Erebus paused to survey the troops, sharp eyes sweeping over the assembled soldiers. It was a light cavalry unit, and Erebus felt a small twinge of doubt at his acting abilities. His disguise as Aether had fooled the others for the time being, but luck was never on his side without some dire consequence. The actual Aether was knocked out with a sleeping potion, trussed up in tightly bound ropes. Erebus had no doubt he would escape. It was only a matter of time.

He cleared his throat, trying to force out the words Aether would most likely preach about.

"Whatever happens next, I believe we have surpassed all expectations given to us by our commanding officers. Moreover, we have formed great bonds of friendship that will only strengthen through the ordeals of time—"

Erebus fumbled for words.

"—but... but for now, we must remain united. This is our last battle, our standing ovation. This is our final blow to the enemy and our names will be immortalized in blood and stone."

He drew his knife, a ray of moonlight filtering through the clouds and shining off the metal.

"We do this for the ones we love. We do this for the innocents. We fight to protect their liberty and freedom. We fight for them all, the ones who have no voice."

"For Chaos!" The soldiers echoed in determination, mouths set into grim lines. All laughter was gone, replaced by a steely cold efficiency.

Erebus smiled wanly. "For Chaos," he said, sounding up a war cry. "We do this_ for them all!"_ Invigorated, the soldiers whipped their steeds into motion, their own voices mixing to the fray.

His eyes shadowed, Erebus turned his head away and muttered softly. "I hope I'm right about this."

_•••_

"Sir... sir! We can't hold them back any longer!"

Erebus cursed under his breath, flipping a knife over his shoulder to impale the soldier about to attack him from behind. Red eyes flared, and then the enemy general he was dueling froze, his expression glassy and idiotic.

"Kill yourself," Erebus intoned, and watched as he happily did that. He never did like using that particular skill —more of a curse, really— but he was running out of time.

He looked around wildly, for any sign of Aether's ridiculously red cape that would stand out like a beacon against the sea of writhing black masses. On any other occasion Erebus would have been mercilessly taunting him about it, but now...

He hoped the ropes held.

Distracted, Erebus didn't register the hissing of the weapon until it was too late. The primordial bit back a string of curses as he snapped off the arrow that had embedded itself in his shoulder, leaving a deep gouge. Adrenaline briefly numbed the pain, for which he was grateful.

Fury, barely-contained wrath stared back at his assailant, promising pain, agony, and death. His bow was in his hands in seconds, the smooth wood promising vengeance to all who hurt its master. He didn't need time to sight the shot, but snapped it out and continued on, the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground telling him all he needed to know.

Minefields shook the earth and the remaining force knocked him to the ground.

Erebus watched helplessly as the entire right flank was demolished in a jet of black smoke and flame.

_•••_

For a moment, everything in time stood still. He met Aether's panicked eyes from across the battlefield and smiled bitterly.

The ground beneath him exploded into a chaos of light and shrapnel.

_•••_

Pain.

Erebus could not hold back the scream, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a dry choke. His head slammed jarringly into a rock and his helmet rolled away, broken and scorched. The landing knocked all breath from his body and he lay there, struggling to breathe, to think, to do _anything. _His vision wouldn't clear, no matter how much he blinked.

His eyes closed as he tried to force his breathing to even out. The cold ground was kissed by bitter frost, seeping into his skin. His rasping, irregular breaths drained what little energy he had left and seemed impossibly loud in the muted war cries and the unmistakable sounds of explosions.

The sky. His eyes desperately sought the stars.

Dark shapes scattered with white studs passed in a blur, and Erebus screwed his eyes shut again, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths even as unconsciousness threatened to take over. Dull throbs pummeled his chest, and his hands arched into the bloody earth.

He coughed; loud, raucous coughing that tore up his insides and filled his mouth with blood. Erebus wiped it away absently, leaving a smear of crimson against his deathly-pale skin.

With shaking fingers, Erebus twisted the communicator dial hanging in a chain by his neck. Aether's frantic voice spilled from the stone.

"—Erebus... Erebus, are you alright? _Answer_ me, damn it!"

"Aether..." He broke off, gasping for breath as another bout of coughing wracked his frame. The taste of rust lingered in his mouth. "Take Nyx... run..."

He tried to say more, but his throat was raw and he couldn't control his fingers. The communicator slipped onto the ground.

_•••_

What was left of the earth was scorched and pitted. Erebus struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on a broken and blackened sword.

The battalion was demolished. Archers were picking off any stragglers, who, even staring death in the face, attempted to fight back. But they could put up no match for the still-fresh enemy soldiers and their defiant cries were soon silenced.

_•••_

The enemy closed in like a pack of wolves that had caught a scent. Erebus grimaced as a knife whistled past his face, sending arrow after arrow until his quiver was empty. Each found its mark, and he took a moment to feel coldly satisfied.

But a new problem arose. He was a long distance fighter, unsurpassed in speed and accuracy. Close combat was never his forte, and those swords had several feet on his thin, curved knife. Still, he thought he was doing remarkably well holding his own.

It was a dance. A deadly and beautiful dance.

They were pressing in tighter,_ tighter—_

Instinctively, he moved to block a sword that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. Only afterwards did he realize his fatal mistake. It was too late to take in the brute force beneath the blow and the thick, cordlike muscles that rippled like iron underneath the man's armor.

His knife broke, edges ragged as the top half ripped away under the pressure. Erebus felt the last hopes in his chest flicker and die. _So..._ this would be his last stand. The irony was not lost on him.

But the thought didn't bother him as it should have. He'd fulfilled his purpose and kept everyone safe. Nothing was for naught, and he would go down fighting. Erebus drew in a last breath.

For Chaos, he would sell his soul.

He readied his weapons, and prepared to die.

* * *

><p><em>"Into the Valley of Death, rode the six hundred."<em>

* * *

><p>It was only after quite some time Percy began to realize that something was wrong.<p>

It started off as a slight, nagging suspicion, but it was enough to draw him out of sleep's domain, out of the nightmare-memory he was once again reliving. The darkness still called to him, its embrace warm and peaceful, but driven by an animalistic instinct, he shook off the last remnants of its clutches. Something was not as it should be...

The first thing that hit him was the smell.

Wildflowers and lavenders scented the breeze, smelling of a warm spring day. But the more he concentrated, the more sickly sweet the smell seemed to become. Almost like... like...

Percy forced his eyes open. Whiteness attacked his pupils, causing bright streaks to flash painfully across his eyes. Even so, there was no mistaking the source. Not while he was lying in a whole field of it.

...rotting flesh.

The world spun dizzyingly, in a way he hadn't experienced for a long time. Percy suddenly felt sick. Tartarus had given him a disturbingly high resistance to pain and torture, but even so, he nearly threw up—something _else_ he hadn't experienced for a long time. He closed his eyes, hands coming up without consent to press on his wounds. He ached like someone had run him through, dropped him in a vat of lava, and promptly electrified him all at the same time.

_(he didn't know how true that was until later)_

The disorientation was thankfully ephemeral. Sensations began to course through his legs, white hot pins and needles jabbing and pinching. Blinking fiercely, Percy held up an arm to shield his sensitive eyes from the harsh sun.

It had been many years since he last saw the sky. A few months ago, he would have given everything just to feel the warmth on his face again.

But now... now something was different.

Percy became aware of the stickiness seeping into his hair. With slight alarm, his hand went to the back of his head, only to be greeted with a handful of blood. He must have hit his head somewhere. But there was no rock to give him a concussion on. No, only a disturbingly soft pillow...

He dared to shift slightly. All of a sudden, the putrid sweet smell became too much. It swelled up in a great cloud of gas, the overwhelmingly strong odor making his eyes water. Disgusting. Struggling to get to his feet, however, he realized that _something_ was impacting his legs into the ground. Percy's narrowed eyes traced the warped looking hunk of metal, trying to force his sluggish mind to work.

It clicked.

_Metal+unmoving+smell+blood=dead body._

Percy almost threw up again. He dug his fingers into the wet, silty earth, feeling the grains sift through his fingers.

_'Calm down, Percy,'_ he told himself, trying to even his spiking heartbeat._ 'It's okay. It's just a dead body. It's just an overly still, unmoving hunk that used to be a person. No problem.'_

Percy was sure his face was green. Taking a shaking breath —then promptly spitting it out from the smell —he clenched his fingers around a groove in the metal armor and _pulled. _Instead of dragging the body off, however, he only managed to break off a piece of the already weakened metal. Rotting, potholed flesh—the color of sour milk—slumped bonelessly from the hole.

_Oh Chaos—_

Adrenaline forced its way through his body, giving him the inhuman strength to lash out with his feet, sending the body flying away. Clenching his fists again, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying with no success to banish the images from his mind.

Percy didn't really understand why it bothered him so much. He'd killed before... of course he did. It was inevitable in the final strain of things. But at least he'd had the honor to give his enemies a decent burial.

Given the circumstances, Percy supposed he should be glad _they_ didn't. He didn't fancy waking up to a nine-foot tall roaring wall of fire eating him alive.

There would be time for questions later. But for now, he needed to get out.

...and where was he, anyway?

In a single smooth motion, he swooped to his feet with a grace not all his own. Weakness made him stumble, and Percy caught himself before he could pitch headlong into the ruins. Bodies covered every feasible area, soaking the ground crimson. Percy averted his gaze.

A faint chuckle. A mocking tone.

"Fear not... this is nothing but a memory. The last of mine, forever preserved in the pits of your mind."

Percy whipped around. "Who said that?"

A semi-transparent figure seemed to materialize from the ashes, forming a smoky image. Glowing crimson eyes pinned him under its powerful gaze. The figure lifted his eyebrow in an almost sardonic manner. "That would be me. Or you, I should say."

Percy wore a bemused expression. "Wha... where did you come from?"

The figure sighed. "We are in your mindscape. I brought you here, but you and I are the same person. Ripped from this body, because of their... experiments. Then the battle. The soul detachment went about as well as I feared."

Percy's throat felt dry. Memories that weren't his began to flood his head. Pictures of blood, of despair and hopelessness, of loss. His head spun dizzyingly and his heart leaped in his throat. "Shut that off! Stop... stop it!"

The figure's mouth twisted into a bitter expression. "Stop what? They are our memories."

Percy grabbed his head, feeling as though it would split open. "We're not the same person, you and I. You're delusional. We're not... I don't even_ know_ these people."

A smoky specter-like hand grasped his wrist, forcing him to open his eyes. "You do _not_ understand. Perhaps, you never did. It is difficult to discern what was real and what was not. Tartarus has shattered your soul."

Percy jerked his hand back. "How do you—"

"Know?" The figure laughed. It was a mirthless, cold sound, containing no warmth or humanity. "I know because I experienced everything with you." A single gesture. "Hear me out. Chaos—Father—fell first. It was no accident." His fist clenched. "He was a fool and paid the price."

_"What?"_

Angry green eyes, swirling with mixed emotions cut sharply into him. "Do you truly know nothing?" he hissed. "He _died._ Vanished. Dissipated. Or he would have, if I had not froze his body in the last seconds of his life. There is no mercy on the battlefield. It is kill, or be killed. Hemera was next. They attempted to kill me. I... I did my best to protect the others. It was no mere coincidence. No assassination is ever random. They were targeting us."

"But... you're dead," Percy said bluntly. "I'm assuming that didn't go so well."

The figure paused. "That is of little consequence, now. There are more important matters to turn our attentions to. The first Sentinel hunter squad is but hours away. They will come for you now. Perhaps it is time... we have been apart too long, and ignorance will win no battles. The joining will be painful, but you cannot survive without my knowledge and experiences."

Percy blew out a small breath. "Yeah? Well. Do your worst."

On hindsight, that wasn't such a smart thing to say. The specter's eyes snapped to his, and Percy drew in a sharp breath, his own widening a fraction to convey his astonishment. Red swirled into the expressionless green eyes, drowning out the vivid color. The pupils dilated drastically, taking over the iris and lengthening until it had become an elliptical shape.

His whole form glowed, but Percy wasn't sure if it was a delayed result of hitting his head too hard, or if he needed to get his eyes checked out.

"What_ are_ you?" Percy's eyes widened. A second wave of power surged outwards, cracking his lips and blistering his skin.

The figure—only it wasn't so much a figure now as a corporeal form—gave a feral smile. The air glowed with unbridled power, making it hard to breathe.

A sibilant purr. "What _am_ I, you ask?"

Black wings burst from his back in a flurry of feathers and wind, buffering Percy back a few inches.

"I am the result of an experiment gone wrong."

The specter raised a single hand and touched Percy's forehead. Immediately, fragments of memories and screaming voices assaulted him, pulling him under.

"I am the one they fear."

The last thing Percy saw was glowing red eyes and a whisper, dying on the wind.

_"_I am_ Erebus."_

* * *

><p><em>"They fear us because we are different."<em>

* * *

><p>Erebus' ghost was starting to flicker into the background, dissipating into mist. "We only have time to go through eight of my memories directly. The rest will come in dreams or fragments."<p>

Percy nodded, but hesitated slightly. "About those nightmares I've been having... are those your—I mean, my," he hastily amended when Erebus fixed him with a sharp glare. "—my memories from, ah, your life?"

"They are not so pleasant, are they? But you will need to understand, and now..." Erebus poked him in the forehead with a single finger. _"...awake."_

**i.**

The air is cold, but my mother's hand is ice. Even with my arms wrapped around her, it's of no use. Her eyes are feverishly bright, catching the last rays of the sun as it drifts ever closer to the horizon. I stare after the fading light, wishing I could bring it back with willpower alone.

Night means death.

The temperature drops steadily below zero. The cold creeps in.

I wrap her with another frayed blanket, giving mine over as well. She's too weak to protest.

There's no wood to start a fire. Even if the timber would remain dry enough to burn, the smoke would attract unwanted attention.

My death grip on her hand tightens. She squeezes mine weakly. Her fingers are trembling. I ignore it as well as I can, trying to squash the painful voice in my head whispering _she's dying, she's dying and you can't do anything about it because you're too weak_...

"Erebus..." she reaches for me weakly. A trail of white mist issues from her cracked lips. "My boy..."

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. "Don't try to talk, Mum," I whisper. "It'll be alright. The sun will come back up soon."

A small, fond smile tugs at her lips. Her eyes are becoming distant and I have the feeling she's not really seeing me, but something much more beautiful. "I... don't have long..."

"Stop talking like that! Like...like..."

The _like you're going to die_ went unsaid, but its meaning hung thickly in the air. We both know it to be true.

I bury my head into her arms, breathing in the rich scent of my mother. It's marred by the tannic smell of blood. Her eyes are half lidded, lips moving silently, the hitching breaths making her chest rise and fall too fast.

"It's okay, 'Res," she says, braving a smile. "Death... is the next... great adventure. I have... come to terms with it."

I shake my head, still buried in the soft folds of my mother's robes. It's better here, where nothing exists but the darkness. There are no lies, no death. "You won't die. I won't let you."

Moonlight streams in from the place where the roof should reside. It bathes everything in its ethereal glow, darkening the crimson pool of blood trailing through the door to black. Her face is so pale, so white.

"...something you need... to know..." She coughs, squeezing her eyes shut. When her hands move away, I see that her lips are shining red. "Chaos will... take... care of you..."

I draw back a little. "The... _Creator?_"

Her eyes are pleading with me now, begging me not to be angry. The world was dimming but her hand is clasped tightly around my arm. "Your... father. Protect brother... Aether... _please..."_

A load of bricks drop into my stomach and for a moment I can't breathe. There's a heavy pressure against my throat. I want to scream at her —why didn't she tell me before?— but I can't bring myself to do anything but choke out, "Why?"

She doesn't answer. Sad smile. Her eyes are dimming, the once fierce spark in her eyes flickering and going out. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, a tiny red stream. "Don't ever... lose your fire... s-spe...cial..."

"Don't leave me," I gasp out. I'm shaking her now, which isn't wise, but I can't control myself. Her blood coats my face and hands. _"Don't leave me!"_

My mother's mouth parts, as though she would speak. No sound passes through her lips. A single tear is trailing from the corner of her eye, but it freezes before it can disappear. My heart seizes and I'm shouting for help, anyone, _anyone at all..._

It's too late. She's already gone. My mother—my only friend, my confidante, my last tie to the world— is dead.

I bury my face into her chest and scream.

**ii.**

I pause at the cracked doorway, a hand grazing the threshold. I don't turn around. Somehow, I know that if I do, I won't be able to leave. And I can't lose my composure. Not now.

Yet I can see her perfectly in my mind's eye. It's like the images are burned there forever. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget, and some part of me doesn't want to.

Her black hair is spread over the cold ground. Delicate fingers of frost lace her already pale skin, giving her the ethereal look of an angel—a fallen immortal. Her hands are folded gently against her stomach, hiding the bloody wound that stole her away from me. A single red rose lies clasped in her hands.

My last gift in death.

"Bye, Mum," I whisper. There's no reply. Only the steady falling of snow that has begun to drift aimlessly from the stormy heavens. I life my face to the sky, feeling the gentle flakes wash away the blood and grit.

_Burn._

The house burns. Only the ashes remain.

And the empty hole in my heart.

**iii.**

I run.

It is my way of coping, a way to outdistance my troubles, if only in mind. I know I cannot run away forever, but it's better to just _do _than to think too much. Thinking is too painful.

People look and think me innocent. They don't seem to understand that despite my age, I've never had a childhood. Never behaved like those drooling _idiots _I see at the daycares_,_ gurgling and spitting and generally being disgusting. It's at rare times like these that I thank my unusually prodigious mind. At least luck had given me _one_ thing worth having.

Of course, the I-am-a-mercenary part was not so satisfactory. It is a cruel way of living, without rest, without peace. But it was the only way to survive when I needed to take care of both of us.

Now... there's no point. Now, nothing remains for me but vengeance, and its cruel, sweet touch.

The man doesn't notice me planning his death. He doesn't notice me following him. A month has passed—doubtless, he thinks that he's been forgotten and is in the clear. I cannot suppress a sneer at that.

Like_ I_ would ever forget the one who has killed my mother.

A part of me wonders if he has children, a wife, a loving family to dote on. But I ruthlessly squash these sentiments down. I am doing them a favor.

Days upon days, I am poised to attack, yet unwilling at the same time. Because somehow... it doesn't feel right. Yet I must. I _know_ I must.

I watch as he haggles with some merchants. It's not really haggling. On normal occasions these merchants won't budge an inch from their fixed price. But now, with one adorned with insignias and haughty expressions sneering down at them, they quickly hand the guards whatever they wish to have without complaint. The merchants don't quite meet their eyes, choosing to grovel in the dirt at their feet.

Fear.

I mutter a curse under my breath. Fear runs rampant.

The man looks up, as though sensing something descript, his expression chilled. His piercing gaze roves the rooftops, but I am too well hidden to catch his attention, and he is too distracted, too fixed in his self-appointed task to do much else. Eventually, he looks back down, and I am finally able to draw in a slow breath.

Diamedes. He is Chaos' head guard.

Chaos... I refuse to call him _Father._ The word feels strangely dry and bitter on my tongue. I cannot stop the swell of resentment that rears its head. Where was _he _all of those years when we were barely scraping by? Where was he when I had to get a job as a mercenary, just so I could feed us both?

In a castle. In a castle enjoying himself and not even caring that his son and once lover was out there somewhere, cold and alone.

I trail closer to the guard, unnoticed in their slipstream.

_"—coming soon, yes, have you heard?"_

_"—struggle, they had mentioned—"_

"—melons, six chron apiece!"

_"—no news from the north front—"_

_"—disgusting, foul creatures. Should be killed."_

"—fresh—"

"—please sir, I'm poor—"

His companion moves aside, uttering a quick farewell to the guard. "—got to get to the armory," he says gruffly. "You be careful, now. Lot of riffraff around here."

The guard smirks, and salutes mockingly. "Do not worry about me. There is nothing I cannot handle."

His companion nods, but there is a slight frown marring his face. "Just... watch your back, alright? I've got a bad feeling."

"Look at these cowards." The guard gestures at the milling crowd that is sending him wary looks. '_And rightly so,'_ I think viciously. "Do you honestly think I could not take them down?"

The companion hesitates, but smiles. There is a worried crease between his eyes that refuses to go away. "Of course not. I'll see you at the festival tonight?"

Even before he gives his answer, I know where I will be.

"Indeed, you shall."

**iv.**

The air is filled with the tangible scent of fireworks. Bright explosions of light illuminate the buildings in spasmodic flashes, the many arches and spirals casting shadows upon the blackened depths.

Swift rafts cut through the water, the quiet swish of oars lost within the din of thousands upon thousands of people celebrating and dancing on the streets. Torchlight flickers in bronze braziers, capturing everything in a soft, rosy glow.

There is a man sitting in a raft, his face hidden beneath a black mask. He does not seem any more conspicuous than any of the others. Beneath his finely embroidered robes he fingers the hilt of his sword, hidden beneath the sweeping quantities of fine silken fabric. He carries an arrogant smirk on his face, only too sure of his own safety and security.

The raft bumps gently against the dock a few times, carried forward by the eddying current. The wood scrapes softly against the stony surface as the man steps off. He throws a few coins to the man ferrying the raft, black eyes glittering fiercely from underneath the mask. There's a cold aura about him that makes the rafter stop breathing, and only when the man was well past numerous rickety shops did he finally draw a breath.

Halfway across the street, the man catches a glimpse of black and snaps his head to the side.

There is no one there.

_(He crouches in the shadows, sharp eyes watching his every movement.)_

The narrow streets rapidly give way to the richly inlaid square, decorated by strings of festive lights and throes of dancing civilians. Moonlight sparkles off the fountain set like a mantelpiece overlooking the festivities. Laughter hangs in the air as people whirl around, oblivious to the danger that lurks in the shadows. The night sky is bright. It is a full moon.

Something rustles from the corner of his vision and he turns abruptly, hand poised to slay the offender.

A young woman wearing a brilliantly white swan mask draws back in fright. It is not an assassin, as he feared, but someone wishing to dance. He lets out a small breath and mutters an apology, taking her proffered hand and brushing it lightly against his lips. She laughs, a pretty, tinkling sound.

It sounds slightly strangled.

_(He doesn't see the hatred that shines in those exotic eyes.)_

He leads her into the throng of costume clad bodies, placing his hands at her shoulder and waist while she rests hers against his arm. The tension melts away from the both of them, bleeding out like fire. Soon they are lost to sight against the pulsing beat of the music. They step, sway, and spin to the edges of the fountain, the burbling waters chiming in with the festive tunes. She stumbles lightly and their bodies press together for a moment.

_(She reminds herself that she can't kill him yet.)_

They are both spinning now, laughing as the night sky twirls above them. Fireworks explode in brilliant flashes of white and red, scattering as they fell in great arcs. His partner smiles alluringly. He cannot help but notice that she is beautiful and tells her so. A light blush roses her cheeks. She looks down shyly.

_(Anger, not embarrassment, flushes her face. She has to lower her gaze to avoid him seeing the anger that burns in her eyes.)_

Colors mix together in a blur of light and he spins faster and faster. Composure lost, he laughs drunkenly, too caught up in the excitement to regard his surroundings.

A swirl of silver, a flash of light—

His throat rips in pain. He lurches sickeningly for a moment, and his eyes fly open with ill-concealed shock. His hand comes up dazedly and the sharp edge of a blade running him through scrapes gently against his fingertips. It's missed his spinal cord and his windpipe, so for a few brief moments he is able to wheeze out a few breaths. He doubles over, hacking out crimson. Warm liquid spills through his fingers, unable to staunch the flow of life from exiting his severed veins. Vaguely, he can hear the civilians panicking, but their shrieks are barely able to penetrate the thick fog in his mind.

He gasps out a question, blood bubbling in his mouth. With alarm, he notices that his lungs are losing ground, every breath drawing less and less air. He doesn't want to die.

The world is rapidly dimming and all he can see is that his partner's face. It's twisted in a sickening snarl. His blood stains the front of her dress, contrasting sharply with the paleness of the fabric. Her fingers are still clenched on the knife, and she yanks it out roughly, spattering her face as a spray of red follows the edge.

The white mask is gone, revealing glowing eyes and a spitted reply.

_"You killed my mother."_

The old clock strikes twelve, signalling midnight. His heartbeat throbs painfully loud in his ears, growing fainter with each strike. His face twists, and dimly he registers that his body has fallen stiffly against the cold, hard ground.

_'Don't want to...'_

The world fades away.

**v.**

For a brief moment, I am riveted to the ground, unable to look away. It is not an attractive sight. The life has long fled his eyes, leaving them all too blank and dead. Grime and blood tore into his once expensive clothes. His body flops limply away from my prodding foot and no more blood flows from his gaping wounds. Once so proud and majestic in life, he lies crumpled at my feet, throat slit, thread cut; the blood spattering my clothing attests to that. All that is left of him is an empty shell, one that will soon wither away in the onslaught of wind and time.

He is not the first I have killed. Granted, many before him have claimed the title, far too many. But he was the first that I knew for sure would die by my actions. The first that I have plotted against.

There is no sorrow at these revelations. Only a hollow, empty nothingness. The surge of blood that roars through my ears dominates everything else. The adrenaline that still pumps through my veins remind me of one thing, and one thing alone; it is kill or be killed, live or die.

_(aut vincere aut mori)_

I know I must leave soon, but I cannot bring myself to move. Cruel as he was in life, there is something oddly pitiful and weak seeing him prostrated on the ground and so small. Gritting my teeth, I stoop to close his glassy eyes, tilted to stare blankly into the night sky. For all his misdeeds, I shall not treat him with the brutality he deserves.

The stars twinkle down coldly.

_"Il facet ent craes cont en mort,"_ I say.

May death treat you better than life.

Footsteps are pounding up the cobblestoned way now and my head snaps up, eyes sharp. The torches grasped in my pursuers' trembling hands are flickering, casting long shadows on the slanted walls. Their voices demand for me to reveal myself, to come out.

I let the shadows pull me away from them.

The feeling of being ripped apart, then reassembled badly grates on my nerves. I grit my teeth and fight the nausea from this particularly unsavoury form of travel. It deposits me at the river's edge, where I hastily strip of the encumbering, bloodspattered dress and throw the mask into the water.

For a moment, it floats, propelled upwards like a giant, gaping mouth. I watch its repulsive threads flutter guilelessly with a morbid fascination, trembling to the push and pull of the currents. But soon the waterlogged fabrics sink and drag everything down into the murky depths. The last traces of red and white disappear beneath the surface.

I'm brooding now. It is out of character, but I have so many questions, and so little answers...

"Quite a talent you have there."

I freeze. A knife appears in my hands and I spin to confront my attacker. He lifts his hands up, shaking his head soothingly. "I mean you no harm."

I'm not sure if I am more wary of him because he has been able to sneak up without my sensing his approach, or because of the way his voice stirs memories inside — deep, nostalgic ones of home and the hearth. I shake off the feeling, gripping the handle tighter. He is messing with my head. I growl.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The man raises an eyebrow. Even that small movement seems familiar. It's driving me mad, not knowing. He seems amused at my torn expression. "Well, you have deprived me of my lead guard tonight. I have come to know your reasons."

The tiredness of the day's events bleed out in an instant. In a second I've dropped backwards and drawn my bow. I'm reaching for an arrow when a warm hand grips my wrist, stopping the movement.

Once again, he's moved too fast for me to see.

"Chaos," I hiss. He inclines his head in a shallow nod, eyes never leaving mine, confirming his identity.

"Calm," he says cheerfully. "I will not hurt you."

I do not believe him for a single second.

_'You already have,'_ I itch to say. '_You have hurt me thousands of times over.'_

"He killed my mother," I spit out. Chaos' eyebrows draw together.

"I am sure you are mistaken. Diamedes was an honorable man. He wouldn't hurt women or children without cause."

"My mother... is not of the human race," I admit haltingly. Chaos' expression clears, and he looks at me with a sad smile... with _nostalgia?_ His hand still grips mine and I am loathe to continue the contact.

"I am sorry," he says. "There is nothing I can do to stop the prejudices from coming out. I have tried. Your reasons are understandable ones. But shouldn't your father be the one doing the avenging?"

I laugh harshly, ripping my hand out of his grasp with a strength I barely knew I had. The sound is guttural and raw.

_'My father is standing in front of me.'_

"He abandoned us," I say spitefully. "He doesn't care."

Chaos seems to accept this. At any rate, he doesn't question me further. Instead, he leans back on his heels, regarding me with a narrowed gaze.

"What will you do now?" he asks.

I don't relax. "Do?"

"Your plans," he elaborates. "Your future."

The question pulls me up short. My brow furrows as I struggle to come up with a response. "I... don't know," I admit slowly. "Haven't really thought about that yet."

Chaos' eyes are gleaming. He smiles. Suddenly, I am reminded of the leer a shark gives to a cornered fish. I'm calculating the ways I may be able to escape now, sure that I will not like the words that will soon pass through his lips.

"How would you like to work for me?"

I was right. I don't.

_'No!' _I shriek immediately. '_Absolutely not!' _I open my mouth to make a withering retort, but I force myself to stop and think.

What _was_ I going to do, now that my goal was accomplished? Live on the streets, be forced back into a life of mercenary work? Kill until I am killed? Always looking over my shoulder for any sign of danger?

My mother's eyes stare back from my memory. _'Chaos will take care of you,'_ she'd said. I can't help but inwardly scoff at that. But even I cannot deny anyone their last wish.

_"...protect brother... Aether... please..."_

_'Why?' _I want to scream._ 'Why me?'_

When I look back up, Chaos is waiting patiently for my answer. From the expression on his face, he has already known what my conclusion would be. I grind my teeth together.

"I... accept your... generous offer."

From my tone, it is apparent that I am anything but. But either he cares not, or he blatantly ignores it.

Chaos' hands disappear into his clothes, and I tense once more. Instead of a weapon, he draws out a cloth wrapped item and passes it to me. I unfold it cautiously, slipping off the fabric to reveal a blank white mask. Its porcelain eye holes stare back at me.

"You will receive your weaponry and armor at the forgery. I will take care of the documents."

Chaos gives me an assessing look. I stare back with blank eyes. For a moment, we stand there, locked in a battle of wills. I refuse to look away. To admit defeat. To let myself be bested by this... monster.

Because the one standing before me now has been the sole cause and driving force of all my conflicts. He is the one that has caused us so much pain, so much regret. I have to physically ball my fists together to insensate the urge to tear out his throat.

_'Kill,'_ something in me snarls. I do not know what it is. It sounds feral, and utterly uncontrollable. '_Kill him. Kill him now!'_

I force it down, feeling a surge of incessant relief as the voice dies to a distant mutter; I can easily drown it out. For a moment, whatever that voice had contained threatened to break through my control and rise to the surface.

I refocus in time to see Chaos' gaze relax. He gives me the feeling that I have passed some form of silent test. He offers his hand silently in a shake. I take it reluctantly, knowing that I will be rinsing it off in boiling water soon enough.

"Then welcome," he says. "To the ASPECTs of Chaos."

**vi.**

At Chaos' castle, he bids me farewell_._ I wander around aimlessly for a bit, but apparently he's given his secretary strict instructions to hook me up with a stiff, pompous middle aged man that is tasked with showing me around.

_ASPECTs,_ as my guide informs me, stands for '_A_ssassination, _S_tealth, _P_oisons, _E_spionage, _C_orruption, _T_actics.'

"If he makes me dress as a girl, I am going to slaughter him," I growl under my breath. My guide gives me an undeterminable look from the corner of his eye. He edges away from my murderous glare.

"R-Right," he coughs, faltering slightly. "The forgery is... this way."

I stalk after him, throwing his back a dark look.

The corridors slowly constrict themselves, narrowing and winding deeper into the bowels of the earth. I have to grit my teeth and force every step down, trying to convince myself that the tunnels would not collapse with us halfway in. The musty smell of death is overpowering.

Was this some form of sabotage? Deceive me into accepting an offer of work and lead me into the tunnels, before collapsing them over me? I would not put it past Chaos.

The darkness carries on forever. I take comfort in the shadows.

Gradually, a dull orange light illuminates the opening of the forgery. It's blithely hot. The blacksmith—a man with a mass of wild brown hair and bulging muscles—grunts out a greeting. He heaves the hammer, a block of iron the size of an anvil, over his shoulder as easily as if he were only picking up a feather. I can see his arm muscles straining as he brings it down. Then there's a cataphonic screech of red-hot metals grinding together, sparks flying from the sheer force.

The blacksmith lets the hammer-anvil drop to the ground. The floor shakes. He wipes off his soot blackened hands on a grimy piece of cloth, which does more harm than good to his overall grimy appearance.

"What can I do for you folks?" he says. Standing in comparison to us, he towers well over seven feet tall. I cannot help but wonder if he had some giant blood in him. His voice rumbles low in his chest, resonating in the pits of his body like a bass drum.

"ASPECT equipment," my guide says slowly. He's edging glances between me and the blacksmith, as though gauging which of us was more of a liability to his rapidly ailing health.

The blacksmith levels a hard gaze on me. "So, you're some upstart kid recruit, uh?"

I don't answer, pinning him under a cold stare. His words have no sting in them, not when you've been living in the slums for a while. The blacksmith turns his back to us, but instead of moving towards the bellows once again, he goes to pick up a measuring tape.

"Knows when to hold his tongue, too," he mutters under his breath. It's barely audible. He turns to face us once more, and as if he can sense me staring intensely at him, his voice returns to its usual volume. "Got any weapon preferences, makes, that kind of like?"

"Long distance," I say instantly. "I'm pretty good with a bow and arrows." I don't mention that I'm rubbish at swordsmanship. The blacksmith motions for me to demonstrate, gesturing at the pinholed archery target hanging on the wall. I unsling the bow from its resting point on my shoulder, taking an arrow from the quiver.

The blacksmith scrutinizes it carefully, his eyes travelling down the worn shaft. "Not much of a weapon now, is it? All scrap wood and a piece of string."

A surge of indignation causes my voice to come out more harshly than I intended. My guide backs up a few more steps in alarm. The blacksmith only booms out in laughter.

"Got spunk, I'll give ya that. But can you use it... well, that's the question, now ain't it?"

I tighten the string and draw the tension, spreading my feet slightly apart. I allow the world to fade away as I take meticulous aim. I can feel the eyes trained on my back as I let the arrow go. The feathers brush upon my fingertips—

There's a rasp of wood upon wood, and then the target bursts to pieces, exploding outwards in a spray of metal and splinters.

It is silent. They're staring at me with ill-disguised shock. A smirk crosses my face, and I do not bother to hide it.

"I think I can, wouldn't you say?"

The blacksmith grins toothily, clapping a hand on my shoulder. My knees buckle under the weight and I have to suppress a wince.

"A wonderful performance!" he booms, and this time, I _do_ wince, because I am sure my ears are bleeding. "I shall make your weapons with great haste and joy!"

I blink, and in that moment, he erupts as a hurricane. The blacksmith has disappeared into a flurry of limbs and metals and loud voices. He does not give me a chance to respond.

The next hour is spent measuring and fussing and nitpicking until I'm sure the twitch in my eye is permanent. I resist the childish urge to whine and stamp my foot. The blacksmith—Erikson, he told us to call him—was only too enthusiastic about the prospect of making dangerous new toys. He drags me around like a rag doll, trying out design after design, before melting it down and starting again.

"Must be perfect," he mutters. There's a wild grin on his face, and it briefly crosses my mind that Erikson's spontaneous character is the being of a madman.

Finally, he releases his death grip on me reluctantly, and I massage the pins and needles out of my arm.

"It'll be ready in an hour," he promises. Then, he casts his eyes over the various stacks of metal, knives, and papers, then grins again, slightly sheepish. "Er... maybe in two hours, actually. I'd suggest you go to the tailor next for your armor. Now, shoo. Leave me to my work. Go on."

We say our goodbyes, and my guide leads us out of the forgery and out of the tunnels. I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief when the first streaks of skylight breaks through.

We do see the tailor next. She is a matronly lady who at first believes this to be some wonderfully thought out prank, because _'there was no way a ten-year-old would belong in ASPECTs. Now, don't you have any homework to get to?'_

I scowl at that.

"I assure you, ma'am," I say icily, "that this is no hoax."

I show her the tattoo branded onto my skin. It was still red around the edges, and hurt when she poked it with an inquisitive finger.

The symbol varies for each person. Mine portrays a dark bird extended in all of its glory—a raven?—with wings extended to form the outer edges of a circle. Meticulous detail is emblazoned on the feather tips, until I am sure the bird has come alive under my skin. A single clawed talon grasps the hilt of a scythe. Sharp eyes take in the surroundings with a vice like precision.

I don't like the thing, beautiful as it is. It makes me feel like someone thinks they own me, like a brand one would use to mark cattle or sheep. But it is a necessity and there always was the added benefit of seeing the adults' faces when they discover that _"a mere child!"_ is a member of the black ops unit.

The tailor means well, I'm sure. She stands me on a stool and takes down measures, before pinning up various spools of material. All the while she's muttering about "irresponsible superiors" and "poor innocent children" under her breath. I do not know whether to feel annoyed or amused.

The armor, when finished, is incredibly lightweight and trimmed with a dark green. Coarse metal plating overlaps and strengthens the leather cloth so that it fits easily over my form like a cocoon. An armored breastplate, intricately decorated, links up to a metal collar affixed into the leather itself. I run a finger over the razor sharp edges, carelessly disregarding the blood that beads up from the graze. Stiff gauntlets wrapped over my left hand, weaving itself with fine strips of metal up to the elbow. It is considerably heavier than the right one, which left the fingers bared, opting instead to cover the palm and back of the hand. As if reading my expression, the tailor answers.

"That one's removable," she says. "Flick your wrist down and a blade will come forth. It's an extra addition to the set."

She looks away, wiping something from under her eye. "My gift to you, sweetie, alright? Be sure you keep safe, now." She ruffles my hair affectionately before bustling to the next customer. I growl, and flatten it back down. It's messy enough as it is.

My guide looks like he's stifling a laugh. Seeing my withering gaze, he coughs into his hand. "Err... shall we pick up the weapons now, sir?"

**vii.**

"Ah, Perseus! How have you found settling in?"

At the sound of his voice, all the good will and light hearted camaraderie built up so painstakingly has crashed in an instant. It's smothered under the suppressive feelings of anger and disgust. I wonder, for a brief moment, if I have let my emotions show through, because Chaos has paused in his steps, showing a slight hesitation in approaching me.

I stifle the thought and instead put on what I believe to be a smile. Judging from his expression, it comes out more painful than happy. I abandon any attempts and instead greet him with a blank expression.

"Very well, sir. Thank you."

He glances towards the bow strung on my back. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the warrior he is famed to be, hidden under the cheerful exterior. It is only a mask. A good one, but a mask nonetheless.

"I see you have met our resident blacksmith."

"Yes, my_... Lord_." I pause, trying to work the sour taste of the word out of my mouth. "He is very enthusiastic."

Chaos chuckles. "That he is."

I fidget slightly, trying to hide the twitch in my hand, resisting the instinct to pierce him through. "Will that be all_, sir?"_

Chaos sighs slightly. "You are correct in your assumptions. I have not come for small talk. There has been numerous monster attacks by the Western walls, near Helios."

"And you wish for me to eliminate the threat?"

He nods and hands me a scroll of parchment. I unfurl the brittle paper, trying not to crack the edges. A roughly drawn map is outlined hastily on the sheet, spidery lines smudging where the ink had soaked the paper.

Chaos looks at me for a moment longer. "Good luck," he finally utters. "I shall meet you upon completion."

**viii.**

It's mid afternoon of the next day when I trudge up the slope back to the castle, tired and worn. The sun is bearing down bright, too brightly, and it gives me the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of being cooked in my armor.

Three claw marks ran vertically down one side of the mask, from where I was too late to duck, and the manticore had taken a swipe at my face. The porcelain has not broken, which is impressive, but it has been punctured clean through, and it has taken me forever to get bits of mask out of my wounds, especially since I had to dig them out when they were partially dried.

Needless to say, it has put me in a bad mood.

A manticore. There had been a manticore lurking in the outskirts of the woods, slaughtering sheep and the occasional human who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I run my finger along the puncture wound in my arm. It's pierced through the whole thing, and the only reason I have failed to bandage it thus far is that I want to see Chaos' reaction at the gore.

Because I do not trust him. He knows me as "Perseus," the only son of a non-human (a monster, some people with scathfully say), which that in itself is true enough. But some part of me suspects that if I were to give him my true name, he would be able to draw up enough connections to guess of my identity.

Indeed, he has not slipped on the matter. His mask is perfect, but almost adamantly so.

The only positive note of the entire mission is that I was able to test out my bow properly. It is strapped to my back now as a thick metal rod, its collapsed form. A sling of arrows rests beside the bow, each black tip sharp and eager.

I play with the bone spike in my hand distractedly. A spoil of war. It's one of the larger ones, located at the base of the manticore's tail. Being the length of my forearm, it's adroitly thick and still oozing with toxic venoms. Dazedly, I wonder if Erikson will be able to make a knife out of it. The thing can really hurt. My arm can attest to that.

I am in the village now, past the iron portcullis —which was so _very_ original— and into the blessedly cooler reaches of the castle. I shake the twining stream of blood off of my hand irritably, scattering ruby-like droplets over the floor. It is getting cumbersome.

Several times I am forced to ask for directions to Chaos' quarters. It was short sighted of me not to have found out before I left. Of course, even with the assistance I manage to take a wrong turn and end up in an abandoned corridor, completely lost in the maze-like tunnels. Irritated, I turn to head back and retrace my steps.

A clatter of rocks. A muffled scream. I freeze.

_"—shut up now, you little—"_

_"—quiet, I think e's 'eard us—"_

There's a small patter of footsteps. To many normal individuals, it would impossible to discern from the background noises. But paranoia has worked in my favor this once. One would learn to enhance their senses after looking over their shoulder for so long.

I force myself to keep walking. My hands tighten on my only weapon at hand—the bone spike. I had not brought my hidden blade, as it was too stiff to use for archery purposes. The bow and arrows on my back are too far away to reach in a split second.

He's coming closer now. I can smell the foul smell of smoke and cheap booze on his breath. His hands are reaching out greedily—

I twist, faster than his eye can see. It is nowhere close to Chaos' level, but certainly well enough for a mundane purpose such as this. My knife drives into his skull, piercing hungrily through the flesh and coming out the other side with a spatter of blood and grey gore. It smears the other side of the wall with his brain matter.

He is dead before he hits the floor. I step over his crumpled body, yanking the makeshift knife out viciously as I pass.

There is a long, drawn out silence. My footsteps are muffled and soft, even with the brambles and roots that had retaken the corridor hindering my every move.

The second kidnapper is more skilled than the first, but not fast enough to completely miss my strike. It catches on his shoulder, leaving a dark gap in his skin. His back arches in pain; the momentum rips the knife from my hand.

I back away slowly, my fingers closing around my bow.

The second his sword cleaves towards my face, I fling the metal rod over my head. The strike deflects off its armored surface and the man sneers.

"A stick?" he says incredulously. "You hope to defeat me with a _stick?"_

"A stick," I muse. "No. Not a stick."

My bow shoots out to its full form. The sharpened tip punctures the point below his ribs, cutting easily through his armor. The bowstring is slickened with blood, droplets beading down the edge as the wound squirts. I make a face.

And I had just cleaned off the manticore guts too.

The man halves the remaining few seconds of his life by pulling out the weapon and drowning in his own blood. Ignoring his spasming death throes, I turn cautiously towards the petrified boy half standing, half collapsed, against the rubble of the wall.

His lip is trembling. I groan internally.

But instead of bursting into tears, he explodes into questions, endless indeterminable words spilling from his lips. "That was so cool!" he shouts. I slap my hand over his mouth, cutting off the last of the sounds. When my hand drops to my side, I notice the handprint of blood that is smeared over the lower half of his face. The boy does not seem to mind, opting to rattle out an endless stream of questions in a still considerably loud voice.

"—are you one of the ASPECTs? They're so heroic! I've always wanted to be like them, because they get their own awesome weapons and get to hunt monsters all day and is it true you guys really—"

I ignore his tirade and stop to collapse my bow and pick up the bone spike from where it lies covered in a spot of rubble. The boy's mouth forms a perfect _o _of surprise.

"That is _SO COOL!_ If I join, will I get a weapon like that? I wanna be just like you!"

The last makes me pause in my tracks. Something in my heart twinges. I force it down and pin the boy under a cold stare. "You do not wish to be like me," I say flatly. "You do not wish to live the life of a monster."

I refuse to speak after that. My mind is spinning with part disbelief and part confusion, all caused by the now oddly silent boy still snaring my hand in both of his. I have given up trying to make him let go. It is apparent the first twenty times I have tried that he will not.

The door swings open to a frantic looking Chaos. His eyes are burning with an emotion I can not discern. There is a whipping flash of light, the grating sound of steel upon steel; his sword point cuts over my throat. The metal is cold. "Return my son," he says. There's a icy intensity, a steely edge to his tone. I freeze slightly, before kicking his blade aside and drawing into a defensive position.

I am surprised it has taken him this long to act. To kill me. I push down the slight whisp of betrayal that edges in my throat. It is ludicrous, because there have never been any bonds of trust to break between us.

_(Some part of him craves his father's approval; he hates himself for that.)_

The boy seems oblivious to the danger and runs forward to cling to Chaos' leg. "Don't, Daddy!" he screeches. Chaos' tries to extricate his leg from his grasp, but to no success. Whatever else anyone can say about the boy, it is that he has an unusually firm grip.

"Aether," he says in exasperation. "Let me go."

Conflicting emotions make me drop my makeshift knife.

Aether.

This is _Aether._

This _loud_, _annoying, stick of a boy_ is my little _brother._

This is the one I had promised to protect.

I do not know whether to be amused at the sheer stupidity of the situation or bemoan the fate that could only have happened to me.

"—ask-" Chaos says. I jerk upwards in alarm. Lost in thought, I did not catch his words. Chaos' sword twitches. I watch him warily.

"Remove your mask," he repeats.

Only then did I realize that I had not taken it off. I let it drop to the floor with a loud thud. The material does not shatter, wobbling on its thin side to rest at Chaos' feet. It has been painted a sickly red with the blood of kidnappers.

He relaxes at the sight of my face, though I notice he doesn't relinquish his tight grip on his sword.

"Ah, Perseus," he says, his voice back to its usual amiable tone. "I must apologise for my actions. It seems someone had deemed it upon themselves to forcibly remove my son from his room. I thank you for returning him."

Aether, still clinging to his leg, starts his motormouth once again. "It was so _epic!_ They were all scared and trembling and, uh, mister ASPECT sir—"

"Ah, yes." Chaos smiles. "The thought has slipped from my mind. Aether, allow me to introduce the lieutenant of the ASPECT ops, Thanatos. Lieutenant Thanatos, this is my son, Aether."

Fortunately, —or _un_fortunately, however you wish to see it— I am saved from answering by Aether's obnoxiously loud voice once again. "Whooooa, a lieutenant?" He pouts. "You're what, seven?"

I twitch. My indignant response of "I'm ten" was left unheard as Aether bemoaned his lack of position.

"—and I'm still a nobody! You're only three years older than me and you're already a _lieutenant!"_

"I'm _only _a lieutenant," I correct. "There are many more experienced and more advanced than I. You would do well to ask them."

Aether's face drops. "They don't like me," he mumbles. I have to bite my tongue to control my urge to blurt out a scathing remark.

"I'm sure they do," I say unconvincingly.

Aether's face lights up suddenly. "I don't care! I have you now, don't I? And you're so awesome and so powerful and... and one day, I really do want to be like you. Really."

There's something oddly touching about that statement. The smile that comes out on my face doesn't feel forced. It's... pleasant. But a smile cannot break a mask. Not one like mine. I quench the feelings under my fist before they can mutinize.

"Watch your child closely this time," I say flatly to Chaos. My voice trembles. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a small, almost unmistakable nod. He seems to understand that I cannot withhold the turmoil raging inside my chest any longer.

I turn with a stiff bow, the shadows cloaking my face making it unreadable, dreading the moment when I'll finally crack.

* * *

><p><em>"And I see that lost look in your eyes..."<em>


	7. Algiz (Protection)

**Author's Scribbles -** I have been thinking... are you guys interested in a chapter dedicated to the reactions of people that Percy was close to at his "death"? If so, who would you like to see?

What do you think of this chapter?

* * *

><p><em>His laugh was cold and humorless. The mirth died from his eyes, leaving them a dull green, cold and blank.<em>

_"What's more despicable," Percy asked softly. "The pawn or the player?"_

‗‗‗‗‗

"Will you serve me?" Death demands. Her dark eyes bear into mine. They seem to pierce into my soul. It is the only thing I can see in the darkness, and it seems to consume every happy thought, every memory, into its depths. My voice, when I speak again, is cautious.

"...What do you mean?"

She smiles at me, baring her teeth in a feral manner. I force myself to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to curl up and die. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to grit my teeth and refuse to look down. She meets my gaze with something akin to... approval?

"Become my champion," she continues, ignoring the way my breath hitches sharply. "My hand of justice upon the misdeeds of the world. I have been lenient for too long, and it has paid the price. I will be idle no more. The nations shall know my name, and yours as well. I offer you this. Do you accept?"

I look at her with a leaden, careless expression. "I am not interested in power. Power means nothing to me."

She nods, or I think she does. It's hard to tell with the hood amassing her face with shadows. "This is a great honor, son of darkness. Not all are worthy of receiving it."

"Then choose another," I say quietly. "My purposes have been fulfilled. There is no need for me to survive. Let me pass."

Death doesn't move. She pins me under a stare that chills to the bone. For a moment, she scrutinizes me carefully. "You care for your brother." It is not a question. I give a slight nod. Her eyes shine and I know immediately that I will not like what is to come.

"He will die in a fortnight."

I was right. I do not like this.

My eyes fly open, and I whip around to face her. All of the listlessness, the lethargic nothingness I had felt was blown away by the sudden _absurdness_ of the statement. Aether won't die. It's not possible. "What!" I demand, trying to reign in the impulse to shake her senseless. "Tell me!"

Death cocks her head to one side. "He will die without your protection." I take several deep breaths, trying to force the trembling in my hands to stop. It comes out as gasps, too loud in my ears, racing with my heartbeat.

My voice comes out steely and all too desperate. But I really don't care. "How can I save him?"

"Become my champion, and I will pardon him this once. You have sold me your soul; now is the time to pay your allegiance. Do you accept?"

We both understand that she is not giving me a choice. I do not hesitate this time. "I... yes. I will..."

I take her proffered hand cautiously. It burns against my skin, icy cold yet feverishly hot at the same time. Long, supple fingers wrap around mine, surprisingly strong. She twirls her scythe in the other, light gleaming off of the metal blade, beautiful in a twisted way.

"Good," she smiles. "Good."

Death brings her scythe down, slashing a rip into the darkness. I get my first glimpse of the blade. It is beautiful yet gruesome, and I can almost hear the tortured screams of the souls she has reaped. With a faint moaning sound, the darkness rips, the cut edges glittering like thousands of stars. Light pours into the darkness, pushing back the black.

Death releases my hand. Her voice, when she speaks again, is timeless, ancient. "Go. Live. And when it becomes time, I will reclaim you." She traces a possessive finger over my lips, the other curling around my neck. The weight of her hand is heavy and cold.

The light becomes painfully bright. It engulfs me in its folds, and I struggle to free myself with no avail. I look back to Death for an explanation, but I can barely even make out her figure against the searing light. She raises a hand in farewell.

"Go, my champion," she says. Her voice is so quiet that I must have mistaken the slight _warmth_ in her tone. I nod, and my eyes close as the light bursts outwards in a wave of shock and confusion, searing an imprint into the back of my eyelids.

And then I am panicking, because everything is being wiped clear. The memories are fading... I cannot remember who I am...

_"Death... is this how it ends?"_

My voice, asking a last question, comes out as an infant's scream.

‗‗‗‗‗

**Chapter III  
><strong>_**Algiz**_  
>Ý<p>

_Rune for protection, safety, spirituality._

The memories —Erebus' memories, _his_ memories— faded away, and all of a sudden, Percy wasn't in the battlefield anymore. He wasn't anywhere, as far as he could tell. For a few stasis moments, he floated in a peaceful trance, sinking further into the darkness.

Then the moment was gone and Percy was _falling-plummeting-sinking—_

It was the only thing he was aware of. A single green eye fluttered open weakly, watching as the earth rushed up to meet him. The sky —once so large — was disappearing into a pinprick of light, and even that had been swallowed by the darkness.

_I... don't want to die here..._

He hit the water at a hundred miles per hour. It rushed into his nose, and for once, Percy understood the terror of drowning. Why all humans learned to swim; it was a terrible way to die. Blackness consumed everything. Every thought, every hope and dream, washing it away like the tide.

Heaving and spluttering, he clawed doggedly towards the surface. The light of the world disappeared with the darkness, so hopelessly far yet so tauntingly close. No matter how much distance he swam, more seemed to take its place. His strength was depleted as he closed his eyes, sinking back into the cold embrace of the depths.

_"So you were born by water as the son of Poseidon, and so you shall be reborn into water as the son of Chaos."_

Then strong, and strangely dry arms circled around his shoulders, dragging him towards the surface. Percy turned his head to look at her, but somehow, he already knew who it was. Her cool breath fanned his ear, and he pushed the idea of _how-is-that-even-possible-underwater_ out of his head.

"Brat." Her voice seemed to echo in his head, bouncing off the water like sonar, coming from all directions, though she was talking in a quiet voice.

"Death," he murmured. Her cold eyes crinkled into an almost-smile, dipping her head in acknowledgement. The ragged black cloak she almost always wore was draped over her shoulders. Percy could see his reflection in the pale light of her scythe.

Before his eyes, his image melted away, slipping off to reveal a battle-worn world, where there was nothing remaining but limp bodies and the blood that flowed out in a ceaseless river. Chariot rails stuck out of the ground, marking the place where they had met defeat at the hands of the enemy.

Then the scene faded and Percy was left staring back at his eyes.

"It's been a while. It took you longer than expected to return."

"I was... delayed," Percy defended himself weakly. It was almost as if they were speaking in code, one that he had half forgotten, one that was only starting to surface in his memory. "We have... met before."

Death's gaze was amused, not unlike the smile of a shark when it sees a fish. The scythe gleamed wickedly in her hand. "We have," she quipped. "Several times. You are my champion, after all. Do you not remember my promise to you?"

_'-and when it becomes time, I will reclaim what is mine-'_

"You said... you would take me back, whatever that means."

Death gave him an indescribable look. The silver in her eyes matched her scythe. "It'll come with time, brat. Be patient."

"Easy for you to say," Percy snorted, but there was no spite in his voice. "A few years for me must be like seconds to you."

She only shrugged in response, not deeming it important enough to waste breath over.

Several minutes lapsed by in a comfortable silence. There was nothing to say. Percy could see the layers of water change from a dark black to a muddy, translucent brown. They must be nearing the surface.

Death stopped abruptly, her arm tightening around Percy's shoulders. He could see orange light flickering over the surface, casting the water the color of an old carrot. She gritted her teeth minutely, letting her arm drop loosely to her side. "This is as far as I go."

"Oh." Percy supposed he couldn't want her to stay —she was an immortal, and had her own duties to attend to. But some part of him felt strangely disappointed. He'd finally felt some kind of... connection to her, some semblance of normality. As if catching his downtrodden expression, she seized his wrist, making him tense. Her other hand pushed the handle of the scythe into his. Percy's fingers closed around the smooth metal handle, feeling strength suffuse up his arm, replacing his blood with fire.

"Take it," she commanded firmly, stopping his protests. "I can always get a new one, and this is my apology for thrusting you into a new world and taking you back out again. Be honored. You are only the second to receive my gift."

Percy itched to ask who came before him, but thought it may be too rude and bit his tongue instead. Death's eyes locked against his; he could almost feel electricity vibrating between their gazes, sparking and hissing.

"The darkness stays in the shadows," she said, her voice quiet. "Always supporting the light. We are the backbone of the world, unseen and forgotten, yet vital and necessary. This is what you are now. Do you understand?"

Oddly enough, it made sense. People admire flowers, taking in their colorful petals and rich scents. They do not remember the roots, and when they do, it is only when they pull out the plant and the root is left to die. But the beauty was in its sacrifice, a legacy it had nurtured.

"I... yeah, I do."

She gave him a last nod.

When he opened his eyes again, she had already sunk back into the murky depths, leaving Percy to wonder if it was all an illusion. But no... the heavy weight of the scythe in his hand attested to his sanity. It was really _there_. He wasn't imagining things and going crazy. But he had no more time to think of that... of anything.

The light grew brighter until his head broke the surface.

Percy sucked in a painful breath, taking a few moments to just cling to the side of the river and breathe deeply. Water dripped from his hair, brushing slightly past his shoulders —when had it gotten so_ long?_— and formed a small stream that trickled down the side of his nose, pittering back into the river. He buried his head in his hands, not sure if he was sobbing or laughing hysterically. No doubt anyone listening would think he finally lost his marbles. In some aspects of the word, he was. Tartarus had messed him up more that he would like to admit.

Percy heaved himself out of the river, hands splaying in the mud. Dirt coated his fingers and he wiped them off, awkwardly shifting the large scythe to his other hand. Now that Death was gone and he had his feet planted on solid ground, he had a chance to examine his new weapon.

Black and gleaming, it was taller than Percy, but well balanced. The blade was incredibly thin, made of three layers of metal smoldered together. Percy remembered Backbiter, Kronos' scythe, and the two that had formed its edge. Ironic how he would be using the same kind of weapon his nemesis and torturer had not that long ago. His mouth thinned.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep, tired breath. _Now is not the time, _he reminded himself._ You can grieve later._

He twisted a dark stone crafted into the handle curiously, skillfully worked into the designs. The gem clicked three times, sinking into the handle. The whole scythe hummed, an echoing melody twinkling out a few notes. It was high and innocent, but as the notes repeated themselves over and over, Percy realized that there was something oddly sinister about the banal tune.

The blade clicked again, rotating around until its sharp edge was resting parallel to the handle. The whole thing burned, icy against his skin. Percy dropped it onto the ground, watching as the shaft bumped gently against his foot, leaving a patch of frost where it touched. Its form shimmered, dissolving into shadows until nothing remained but a black gem-like crystal threaded through a thin silver chain.

Percy shuddered, picking it up hesitantly, wiping off the mud with his thumb. It sparkled coldly, but he tied the ends of the chain around his neck. It dropped out of view, under his shirt, where it flared against his skin.

He pushed himself to his feet, flipping the hood of the cloak Death had somehow provided for him over his head. The soft folds of cloth cast shadows over his face, concealing his identity. He felt safer like this. The anonymity.

Indeed, if any of his old friends had seen him now, they would never recognize him to be the same old Percy. Hell, _Percy_ wouldn't even recognize himself. The times have changed.

Sighing, he turned around, eyes still downcast. Nico, Thalia, Grover... did they hate him like the rest of the gods? The thought stung, and he pushed it aside before that wound in his heart could reopen.

_Wham!_

A tingle of pain ran up his arm, and Percy suddenly realized that he was lying on the ground, having been knocked over. He pushed himself up again, mud crusting the side of his face, pulled into a scowl.

"Watch it," he snapped, attempting to wipe off the dirt and only succeeding to smear it everywhere else.

The boy that ran into him cowered slightly, picking up his bucket from where it had fallen. "Contrist, contrist," he stammered. "Paenitet ten et non est ignis,"

Percy frowned, previous ire pushed to the back of his mind. "I don't understand."

"Ignis! Ignis!" The boy paled, turning and bolting towards the direction Percy had come. He stared after him, confused. There was nothing in that direction, or nothing useful, at least. Only trees and...

A whiff of charred smoke and the distant sound of screams drew Percy's attention.

...the stream.

Ignis...

He turned with a sinking expression.

Ignis means fire.

A village was on fire.

Mentally cursing his hero complex, which hadn't managed to completely go away in the years of his imprisonment, Percy bolted into one of the narrow alleys, not yet consumed with flames. Narrow timbers started to smoke, sparks worming into the wood. Percy yelped as one came down before him, weakened by fire, narrowly missing crushing him under its massive weight. He reared back, pulling his cloak from the reach of the flames. Cinders rained down in sparking chunks.

"Hello?" he shouted, the acrid smoke starting to burn his throat. "Is anyone there?"

The heat was becoming unbearable. In a few short seconds, his world had turned into a ring of ash and fire. Percy coughed into his fist, his eyes watering. Self-preservation kicked in. Whether or not anyone was there, he would have to leave soon.

Then he heard the screams. Shrill and raspy, full of terror.

Tongues of flame had started to lick up the sides of a wooden building, consuming everything with hungry crackles. At the uppermost window, a woman stood leaning out, holding a small bundle aloft in the air, trying to keep it away from harm. She was almost toppling out, and at that height, it would kill her. If the flames didn't get to her first.

Seeing Percy, her expression morphed into one of relief and hesitancy.

"Plakere," she pleaded, her voice raw and bloody. The bundle in her arms writhed and screamed. Small, charred hands came out to grasp the woman's sleeve. She looked down and smiled bitterly, tears welling in her eyes.

_She knows she's going to die,_ Percy thought grimly. Despite the obvious language barrier, it was obvious what she wanted from him.

"I'll catch him," he wheezed, trying to shield his mouth and nose from the smoke and ashes. "I'll get him to safety."

The woman hesitated, pausing to kiss her baby's forehead a last time. She seemed to understand him in that way all mothers were able to. The fire was licking at her heels now, but she seemed to accept her fate as long as her baby would survive.

"Phaestus, est nomen eius Phaestus," the woman met his eyes a last time, quiet gratitude in her brown gaze.

Then the floorboards cracked under her feet and the moment was broken. There was a dull thud, and the crackle of flames licked even higher.

The smell of burned flesh permeated the air. Percy covered his nose and turned away.

It reminded him of the time his mum had taken him to a local fair, back when it was just the two of them and no Gabe. There were several performers that did seemingly impossible deeds. One ate a sword. Another burst into flames, dancing around and doing jigs and generally looking very silly. Nevertheless, Percy had screamed, hiding his face in his mum's dress, not wanting to see a man die by fire. He'd always had an instinctual fear of it. Sally just laughed and stroked his hair, murmuring that it was just a show, that no one was going to get hurt.

Sure enough, the man emerged from his suit minutes later, a wide grin plastered on his face. He'd bowed, and Percy was sure he cheered the loudest.

But now... this was no game. Not anymore. Life wasn't something you could just restart. Once it was over... that was it. Done.

He watched her burn helplessly, unable to do anything. When she finally let go, the filthy blue blanket was streaked with ash and blood.

Percy let the bundle land in his arms, careful to cradle its head from the impact. Instinct took over. Holding it close to his chest, he kept his head down and raced out of the collapsing alleyway, shielding the baby from the burning debris that rained down upon them.

The streets looked the same; narrow, winding passageways that were engulfed with fire. Percy didn't know exactly where he was going, only to get away. After countless turns and dead ends, Percy ended up in a large square. It was packed with people, whimpering children and families clinging to each other.

Fire licked up the sides of the roads, burning away the stones and incinerating everything it touched. It was beautiful in the same way a destructive hurricane was beautiful. Untamed and wild, man had no domain over nature's fury.

Although it was hard to appreciate nature's beauty when it was about to eat you alive.

The citizens pressed in closer until they seemed to be one terrified, breathing ball. Percy looked around at the tear streaked faces, the desperate look in their eyes. His stomach twisted.

Then a man stepped forward, pushing his way to the front of the group.

He wasn't anything special. Garbed in simple brown linen tied with a red sash, he was old, the top of his head devoid of hair. It resembled a mirror, shiny and beaded with perspiration from the intense heat. But the revered looks and respectfulness the citizens treated him with gave a sign to his obvious importance.

"Plakere," a young woman wailed, "seducto ich!"

She fell to her knees, kissing the hem of his robe.

"Advenia nos," the man —a priest— said hoarsely, clasping his hand in a three fingered gesture over his heart. The people repeated his move, and with a start, Percy recognized it.

_Grover_ had done it what seemed like ages ago. A sign to ward off evil. _Apparently, it meant a lot more than that,_ Percy thought, watching the mix of regretful hope and desperateness warring on their faces.

They were waiting for a god to save them. They thought that because of their belief and sacrifices, their gods would save them from death. A bitter laugh forced itself out of Percy's lips. How naiive. How foolish.

But there was something commendable about their spirit. They were willing to die for this. Die with their soul intact. It was more than he could say about himself.

His necklace _burned_.

Death stood in his peripheral vision.

"Aren't you going to save them?" she whispered in his ear. Percy sucked in a breath and snapped his neck to the side, but once more she was gone.

"What are you doing?" he hissed back. The baby in his arms squirmed, but it seemed oddly subdued. It mewled in fear.

"You have the power to save them," she said, amused. Her voice seemed to echo, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "You know how."

Percy gritted his teeth. None of the other people seemed to see Death, hovering mere centimeters above them, twirling her scythe. She slammed it down upon the last rotation, sending shockwaves spreading in chaos. "Who are you trying to fool? I don't have that much power. Not anymore."

She traced the tip of her blade under his eye teasingly. It was colder than ice, like Death herself. "Use the scythe," she raised an eyebrow. "You know how."

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling torn.

Despite his anger at the gods, it would be hypocritical to take it out on innocent people. It would make him scum, just like the rest of them. Say what you will, but Percy wasn't without his humanity.

"Just..." he dropped the baby into her arms, "hold on to her... him... for me, alright?"

Screams.

The earth rumbled. Percy turned, in time to see a piece of flaming wood strike the priest in the back of the head. It burned into his skin, licking at the source of fuel it had found. Sickly sweet smells perfumed the air. Percy held his breath. If he didn't, he was sure he was going to be sick.

The man's eyes met his own. Ash gray, glassy with pain.

Then it wasn't the man that looked back at him, but the woman burning in the rooftop.

That was_ his_ priest, damn it. Percy twisted the gemstone around his neck, lips thinning into a hard line.

He barely had time to brace himself before he exploded into flames.

The charcoal colored fire licked at his bare skin, and it took a few seconds for Percy to realize that it left only a mildly tickling sensation. A scythe gleamed in his other hand, the metals reflecting the intense light of his eyes. He snorted. Of course Death would go for the dramatic. He'd almost forgotten that about her.

This, of course, happened in a fraction of a second. To the mortals, it looked like a black hooded being with a scythe had materialized in hellfire, just as his priest had been struck down.

The other priests, crowding around the fallen one, bowed deeply. "Thanatos," they whispered in awe, "vene ad salvadum nos."

The mortals shifted, dropping to their knees, foreheads touching the ground. "Thanatos," they repeated reverently. Their murmurs overlapped like the tide, some strong, some weak. Some high, some low. All formed the same word.

Percy raised his hand, the sleeve slipping back to reveal his curled fingers. He felt the familiar tug in his gut. His scythe burned into his hand until he was sure that his fingers had fused with the metal. His arm started to shake, the wrenching becoming painfully sharp in intensity.

The water refused to come.

He was running out of time... the fire was licking up the edges, people huddling in fear... they looked at him with desperately hopeful eyes...

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. A pressure built in his head and chest, a keening, throbbing note.

He was too _weak..._ couldn't save them... just like he couldn't stop the war...

Percy's hand gripped the fabric over his heart, jerking his head down. It was like someone had driven an invisible railroad spike between his eyes. He knew that if he held this any longer, he would die. But for once, his mental shields faltered and he let himself think with his heart instead of his brain.

The only time this ever happened was in Mt. St. Helens. And yet it was different; back then, he had people to protect, people that believed in him.

A bitter laugh choked his throat. Who believed in him now? They all knew he was nothing but a disappointment and a failure.

But...

Percy opened his eyes. He scanned the faces of the kneeling people. How could they not understand that they were about to die, because he was too weak to do anything important?

The answer almost made him lose his grip.

It was because they trusted him. They trusted that he would find a way, to not give up. A surge of warmth tingled at his heart. He smiled and clenched his fist, raising it to the heavens.

His shout was answered by the water's roar. It surged, like a great maw, over the tumbling ruins, easily dwarfing everything it touched. Wood splintered as it was crushed by the onslaught, the fire snuffed out under its iron fist.

People cheered, throwing their arms up into the air, tears rolling down their cheeks. Percy couldn't help but smile. Their relief was contagious. Caught in the spontaneity of the moment, he lifted his scythe to point at the sky. The sun tumbled out of the clouds, beaming rays filtering out the darkness. A rainbow sparkled from the horizon, telling them all that the danger had passed and it was all right.

"Omnia forre bysso," Percy said quietly, before he blinked in confusion.

But it seemed like the right thing to say. The villagers got to their knees, bowing deeply in gratitude. Percy inclined his head slightly. The hood hid most of his face in shadow, but the civilians could see the small smile that curled his lips.

"Facis, Dominicus Thanatos," they murmured.

Death stood to the side, smiling at him slightly, bouncing the baby in her arms. "Nice job, brat," she said, plopping the baby unceremoniously into his arms.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he grumbled, awkwardly cradling the baby away from his scythe.

A scream came from the back of the group, an overjoyed, panicked voice. "Phaestus," it cried.

Well, that was quick.

The man came into sight a few moments later, shoving past the other humans until they made a clear path to the front for him, shuffling to the side. Some clapped him on the back encouragingly. About halfway there, his steps faltered; he looked into Percy's cloaked eyes and something in his seemed to tremble in fear.

Death nudged him sharply, and Percy had to bite back an annoyed wince. "Vestrus," she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

"They can't even see you," he hissed back, but raised his voice and called out to the man, "Err... vestrus." Percy held out the baby.

That was all the incentive the man needed, bolting down the rest of the path and snatching the baby into his arms, burying his head into the warm bundle.

"Facis tantem, Dominicus," he wept, sinking to his knees. He held on to the child as if it was his anchor to the world. "Un sempiternum ein!"

Percy knew that his brain to mouth filter had probably been destroyed, so he only nodded in response. He turned, raising a three-fingered salute to the people.

Then he turned and melted into the shadows.

‗‗‗‗‗

**One week later.**

When Percy woke again, seven days had passed. It was alarming how time seemed to have no effect on him. That was Kronos' curse on him. To be never touched by time, to watch as everyone around him died and not being able to do anything about it.

Thoughts bubbled like fire underneath the surface. Bitterly subdued, it raged in turmoil, throwing his mind into chaos.

_I scarcely know where to begin,_ he thought bitingly._ Who was - am I? Where did I live? What did I do, my accomplishments, my goals, my dreams? _He concentrated furiously for a few moments, before giving in with a sigh of frustration, feeling a headache starting to form.

Nothing.

All washed away like the sea washes away the sand. Gone, scattered into fragments of pieces, never to be recovered. He wanted to slam his fists against the slick stone walls in frustration. He was so close he could _almost_ feel it beckoning to him, yet so despairingly far away at the same time.

He didn't know how he felt. Tired? Angry? Sad? Perhaps all.

A cold draft blew against his face and he reveled in the biting chill. Percy took a moment to rearrange his facial features into an unconcerned mask. _Never show weakness,_ his subconscious warned him. _Never show fear._

Percy raised his eyes to look up at the moon. He could barely make it out—_there,_ above the sycamore tree—but the sight was reassuring. He slowly blew out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, fanning his hair away from his face. Percy remembered this moon.

The darkness focused into a black sky, punctuated by brilliant silver stars. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened in concentration. Something about the constellations was_ wrong ..._

It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his head. Percy hissed in a breath, gritting his teeth against the onslaught. He only had time to think 'not again,' before a particularly large wave pulled him under, dragging him into the pool of Erebus' memories.

It had been coming off and on, like his body had already assimilated the memories but his brain was only just starting to catch up. Percy would catch glimpses of his past life, never enough to provide a full answer but always enough to drive him insane.

A black haired girl was sprawled over the ground, an arm raised as though in supplication.

_"Percy, what—"_

_"...sorry, Nyx. You are right about sacrifices... forgive me."_

Memory-Percy stabbed downwards, the glint of a blade evil in the light. Her eyes were the last thing he saw. Not terrified, nor regretful, but sad.

The scene changed, fading out to darkness. Percy felt his breath catch in his throat. Even though he doesn't remember Nyx, his heart knows that she was very special to him.

Now it was a small boy with ash white hair and diamond eyes that stared up at him with a large, hurt gaze.

_"—don't leave, Percy! Who's gonna be my friend now?"_

Memory-Percy crouched down, a small, quiet small on his lips. He was barely any taller than the white-haired boy, but it was enough to make a difference in height.

_"Don't worry, Aether. Everything's going to be all right. I promise."_

Little Aether's form burst into shadow, replaced by a dark haired man with tired eyes. His voice was hoarse and hair unkempt. Memory-Percy had kneeled before him, head bowed in a sign of respect and deference, a hand barely touching his knife's hilt. He was taller now, colder, harsher, showing that an indefinite amount of time had gone by.

_"—a last mission, if you will."_

Memory-Percy hesitated. His voice was cautious, eyes seeking the man's, demanding an explanation.

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I have not known you to be this curious before, Perseus."_ The man avoided his gaze like the plague, fiddling with the papers on his desk as if he suddenly found his paperwork to be of the utmost importance.

_"I have never known you to be so skillful at avoiding questions, my Lord,"_ Percy retorted scathingly, the disdain and warning clear in his voice. The man sighed, his hands coming up to rest his aching eyes.

_"A last mission,"_ he said in a defeated tone. _"The very last given from me. It is to be kept secret. Once accepted, there is no turning back. You will be branded an outcast and a traitor and will have to flee from this land."_

Memory-Percy's eyes struck the man's in an accusatory manner. The man said nothing in return, but the raw emotion on his face was enough of an answer. Percy sucked in a breath through his teeth. _"What..."_

_"My last order,"_ he said quietly, _"is for you to kill me."_

There was silence.

Memory-Percy's hands struck the table in a splinter of sound and anger, scattering the papers and spilling ink over the documents. He did not seem to care. The wooden table cracked under his clenching hands, but Percy seemed mindless of the splinters digging into his skin.

_"Are you saying,"_ he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. _"That you care so little about your own life that you would throw it away without a second's hesitation?"_ Despite being worded as a question, it was not one. They both knew it to be true.

**_"No!"_ **Percy snarled, louder this time. It was a guttural, feral sound, capable of transpiring fear in the most dauntless of animals. He stalked forward, kicking the desk to a side without pause. It smashed into the wall with a spray of wood and glass.

And then he stopped abruptly, his voice becoming quiet once more with an underlying steel edge against his words. "Time must have addled your brains, my _Lord._ I'm afraid it has clouded your ability to make judgements."

It was always bad when Memory-Percy lowered his voice. When he yelled, people know that it was the most he would do; verbal abuse and sarcastic remarks. But when his voice was quiet, it was that much worse, because it was usually then that he was at his most dangerous.

But the scenes dissipated into a cloud of ashes and shadows, leaving Percy even more confused than before. He opened his eyes again, gasping for breath, feeling that he'd swallowed the entire Styx river in that few seconds. His labored breaths was the only sound he could hear, something that briefly registered as 'not good' before it was pushed aside.

He could not remember exactly what had transpired that night, only snaps of pieces. He knew none of it was pleasant; that was about as far as his memory could account for. Percy blew out a small breath, closing his eyes in frustration. They burned.

Was Erebus—no, was_ he_—a criminal now? Percy was not entirely sure who the man was, but he felt some twinge of connection to him. He was familiar in the way that he walked, the way he talked and sighed and smiled. He was familiar in a way that a warm fire was familiar.

A small growl escaped his lips. This was getting him nowhere.

Pushing himself painstakingly to his feet, Percy stumbled to a near standing position, feeling as though the earth itself was lurching in great arcs at his feet. He promptly collapsed with a mild curse. Taking a quiet breath, he forced himself upwards again. For a few brief seconds, he was able to remain in a somewhat upright position.

Percy closed his eyes in frustration.

The world righted itself. His balance returned.

Confused, Percy opened his eyes again. Immediately, he was assaulted with an overload of images—he could see the individual veins on a leaf in perfect clarity when it was tens of meters away, the small bubbles in the riverbed that suggested a crab or some sort of bottom feeder was lurking in the depths.

It was fascinating, yet disorienting. Unbidden, his eyelids fluttered shut. He would need time to get used to this... peculiarity. Until then, he would need to find shelter. Or a village. Somewhere with large crowds that he could blend in.

Blame his paranoia, but Percy always felt as though someone was watching him, just out of sight. Percy despised that feeling. Helplessness just did not bode well with him. He'd never been much of a trusting type, and any innocence he had once possessed was completely obliterated.

A part of him wished that everything could be back to normal, when he was just_ Percy_ and life was simple... well, as simple as it got when you had powerful, age-old entities howling for your blood.

It was only after several minutes of picking his way gingerly out of the brambles and brackets he'd somehow found himself entangled in —cursing himself the entire time— that he came across a revelation.

He could see where he was going without his eyes open.

His "vision" wasn't exactly_ seeing_ vision, per say, but more like a sixth sense. He could_ feel_ that there was a tree six feet ahead and slightly to the left, and that it had a rather sizable knothole scarring its trunk. There was no color—only vibrations and... moisture.

The realization came as fast as it had occurred. Percy could see the water, sense the water within other living organisms, the moisture present in the air. Reaching out a hand, he touched the tree's bark in fascination. The roughness gave way under his probing fingers, the lifeblood of the tree trailing after his touches. He'd never seen his abilities like this, so... alive.

This was how the astronomers must have felt when they landed on the moon. To be the one who discovered something new... he felt like a little kid again. Giddy. Excited.

The roughness of the bark caught on his fingertips, and Percy winced, drawing his hand back sharply, fingers coming together to cradle the slash.

There was a sound like gunfire, exploding through the earth until his not-vision was completely blind. Everything became a blur of confusion and blackness. His finger throbbed, more than a cut of its caliber should. Percy jumped back in preparation to defend himself, flaring his eyes open. Whipping his head around, he glared around at his surroundings. There was no one there; at least, not anyone he could sense.

But when he looked back, he realized what had just happened, even if it didn't quite make sense.

The tree was gone. Crumbled to ashes, what remained of the trunk was cracked and black. A small wisp of water curled upwards, forming a hazy question mark. It wafted into the air, coming to curl lazily around Percy's body, a warm cocoon of water. It seemed to _purr_ in contentment as Percy prodded it curiously, his finger sinking effortlessly into the water.

Heat washed over his eyelids, whiteness eating away at the edges of his vision. Percy let his eyes close, his tense muscles loosening, the pain fading to a dull whisper.

He'd drawn the water out of the tree by accident. When he'd clenched his fingers together. A darker part of his mind wondered if the same concept could be applied to a human. He was sure it would; after all, didn't it work when he used it against Menoetius? A mere flick...

_No._ Percy pushed the thought out of his mind forcefully, gritting his teeth. He got to his feet again, the water dropping from his limp fingers, splashing harmlessly back into the earth. A damp patch of dirt stuck out in his water-vision, marking the spot in which a dangerous weapon had been nullified in his hands.

Blowing out a soft breath, Percy stalked forward, intent on making a way out of the forest. It had to end somewhere, and ahead was as good a direction as any.

He didn't notice the dead body until he had stepped on it.

Only it wasn't dead. Not quite.

He looked down in alarm, dark eyes solidifying on her. She stared back at him, unable to break his marbled gaze. Her eyes pleaded desperately with his own, begging, pleading for him to save her. From the pallid complexion of her face, Percy guessed that she had only a few hours to live at most. Taking a few steps back, he scrutinized her carefully.

She could be an enemy. A mole, used to lure well-meaning people to their deaths.

Percy wondered a bit when he'd become so _cold._ Before, he never would have hesitated to help anyone in need, friend or foe. But now, he was bitter, hostile, and vengeful, not at all the happy-go-lucky character he used to be.

There were six ways to kill her right now. She would die before she could do anything. He surveyed her carefully, noticing her lack of weapons and wide, scared expression.

Satisfied, he approached her with slow steps.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly, holding his hands carelessly in front of him. She curled in on herself, around the knife protruding from her stomach. Childish features rested fearfully on Percy. He knelt down in front of her, voice harsh and biting yet genuinely worried.

The girl seemed to scan him over with a weary look, before squeezing her eyes shut in compliance. Her breath hitched in a tearless sob.

Percy wrapped his fingers around the knife's slick handle, steeling his nerves. A terrible, keening cry was wrenched out of the girl's throat and she thrashed against his blood spattered hands. Flocks of birds took to the air in alarm. Percy forced himself to remain calm and not to run as his instincts fought to escape. _Enemies ... alerted ... run ..._

Percy closed his eyes, fingers probing the wound. He forced the individual threads of broken flesh and muscle to join and multiply. He guided the bone back into the embrace of its socket, weaving the sinews carefully over the rough edges. Like what he did with the tree before he...

Percy pushed the image of the girl exploding in a shower of gore and a scream out of his mind. This was not the time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the girl's cries died away.

Percy bit his lip. Was she dead? Unbidden, a small twinge flickered in his stony heart. He rolled her onto her back with gentle hands, daring to open his eyes a little.

Where there once was a gaping hole, the flesh had knitted itself together so that there was nothing left but a fine white scar. Percy exhaled in relief, wiping his hands on the back of his cloak and stood up, hating the exhaustion that throbbed in his body.

"You'll be fine now," he said, starting to edge away. Now that the danger was over, he felt weak, drained. "Don't strain anything and keep—"

A blur of muddy golden rocketed towards him, flinging bony arms over his knees. Percy stiffened.

"Let... let go of me," he gasped. It would have made the bravest of souls back off, but the girl refused to move, burying her face deeper into his legs.

"You are nice." Her voice was still raw and scratchy, like her voice had been used for screaming endlessly. "A sad man. You are nice but sad and angry. Mummy says hugs make people happy. I want you to be happy. To thank you for saving me."

Children's logic. Ah, how simple and pure its intentions were. Percy let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Thank you, but you're several years too late. What's done is done. All that matters is to move on and not to dwell too much on the past. Now, shoo. Your parents will be getting worried." He attempted to pry the clinging child off, but she grasped one of his hands with both of hers. Even so, she could barely circle her fingers around his hands. Caught by surprise, he made no resistance as the little girl pulled him down, crouching down beside her and tentatively lowering his guard. He stared into the girl's large, dark eyes.

What she did next shocked him so much that he was rendered speechless.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, like a mother would a child. Only _she_ was the child and he was... well, he was a disturbed teenager with ADHD and pointy weapons.

"Be happy," she smiled, releasing his arm.

Without a backwards glance, she skipped off towards her village, singing snatches of old lauds, leaving Percy to stare after her with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

‗‗‗‗‗

**Two weeks later.**

"Who's there?" The voice was alarmed, accompanied with the rasp of a sword drawn out of its sheath. Percy stepped out of the shadows, hearing the man gasp as he seemed to _materialize_ from the darkness.

_Maybe I shouldn't do that anymore. I guess it's not as common a skill as I had originally thought._

He heard the weapon before he saw it, sawing through the air. Percy raised a hand, stopping the man's lunging weapon between his fingertips, catching the flat of the blade easily. He cocked his head inquisitively, eyes still closed. "Peace. I mean you no harm."

Indeed, it was only by coincidence that he'd met this man. Before nightfall, Percy caught indistinct figures of a small town, glimmering between the trees. He had pushed towards it, the debris and rotting leaves under his feet changing to the roughness of cobblestones. Percy wandered for a bit, wary of the tense atmosphere that made it hard to breathe. His quiet footsteps were the only sounds in the streets, accompanied with the fearful whispers that lurked in the shadows.

The smell of sickness and sweat and the pained moans in the run-down shacks confirmed his suspicions.

The man lowered his sword, stepping back to lean back from the boy. He had a kind of aura that told people 'beware of me, I am dangerous.' It wouldn't be wise to anger people of_ his_ kind, and the man had no doubt that this boy was one of them.

"I'm only gonna warn you once," he said, shaking his hand at Percy, who looked on impassively. "You need to get out of here, before you catch it too."

"Catch what?" Percy asked.

"There's been a disease going around. No one knows how it started. The crops died first. Locusts, or some kind of bugs, ate them all. And then the humans started getting sick. The docs said it was a cold, but everyone grew steadily worse until the victims went brain dead. More than half the population has been wiped off. I'm one of the last survivors, and I'm gonna get out of here now. So I'm only saying this once: save yourself while you can. Get outta here."

Percy shrugged, a graceful movement. "I am rather adept at the medical arts. Perhaps I may be of some use?"

The man shook his head. "There's no cure. Save your breath. Try if you want, but no doctor has been able to. The ones that have come close all disappeared mysteriously right before their breakthrough, never to be seen again."

Percy pursed his lips thoughtfully. "May I inquire what village this is?"

The man raised his eyebrows, suspicious. "We are in Syndel. This place used to be prosperous, before the Plague set in. We used to supply crops and weapons to Chaos' forces. Now, it's deserted, and all of the waterways are barred off to leave anyone from leaving. To keep the disease in."

"I see," Percy said slowly. He straightened. "Well, I shall go see what I can do. Thank you for your help."

The man's eyebrow's rose even further, in danger of disappearing completely into his hairline. "You still want to help?" he asked, incredulous. "Even after all that?"

"Do you let yourself be washed away once it looks hopeless?" Percy retorted. "Do you let yourself drown just because it's likely you won't be able to make it? Do as you wish, but I will continue on."

The man smiled, a tiny shred of hope present in his eyes. "The world needs more people like you, lad. Go on, then. And may the Primordials shine brightly over your future."

Percy nodded curtly to him, not missing the irony of that statement. _Yeah, I'll shine bright over myself. _

He turned and moved towards the decrepit building used for a hospital, overflowing with patients. It seemed to be the only inhabited place in the entire village. As he passed, he took notice of the red "X"s marked over almost all of the doors.

The nurses themselves looked rather sickly, harsh coughs racking their frail forms. "Do you need any help?" he asked one of them. Her white coat was splattered with mud and dried blood. Black rings drowned out the vivid color of her face, leaving it pale and tired.

"If you wouldn't mind," she rasped, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. "But there's not much we can do for them, except to ease their pains until they pass."

Percy crouched, resting a hand over one woman's shaking brow. It was shiny with sweat. She moaned and churned under his touch, back arching against the shabby blanket acting as a hastily found bed. Pain was written over her face, and Percy felt his heart twinge.

He pitied the woman. His hand tightened over her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter weakly.

Making a swift decision, Percy cast his eyes up to the nurse still standing over them with a sad expression, as if this was a common occurrence. His stomach writhed. "A knife," he said tightly. "I can help, but I need a knife."

The nurse's eyes widened, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "You can... you can cure them?" she asked breathlessly.

Percy shrugged. "Not sure," he admitted. "But what is there to lose?"

The nurse nodded, her expression set with a renewed fire. She pressed a scalpel into his hand, closing his fingers over it. "Help them," she whispered. She opened her mouth to say more, but a man's voice called her name, impatient and frantic. "I have to go now," she said pleadingly. "There aren't many of us left, and I have to take care of my family too."

"I understand," Percy interrupted. "I'll see what I can do."

With a swift nod, she disappeared in a whisper of white clothes and the smell of disinfectant. Percy turned back to the woman, letting his senses trail over her prostrate form.

Circulatory systems. Normal.

Nerve responses. Normal.

Organs... wait.

He didn't know much about the human body, having never paid attention to his science teacher in high school. But he was _pretty sure_ that there wasn't supposed to be a black lump in people's arms. He positioned the tip of the knife over her waxy skin. Blood leaked out, or Percy supposed it was blood. The liquid that oozed out was thick and milky, contaminated by something _inside their bodies._ He made a face, pushing the scalpel in deeper, exposing cut sinews and the shiny whiteness of the bone.

One of the nurses shrieked, finally noticing what he was doing. "What are you doing?" she screeched. "Are you trying to kill her?"

"Bandages," Percy hissed between his teeth.

"But—"

An edge of steel entered his voice. "I'm saving their lives, imbecile. They will need treatment. Or do you want them to die?"

The nurse bit her lip and scurried back into the building, disappearing from sight. Percy gritted his teeth and tried to keep a firm hold on the slick handle. Another incision cut through, revealing the edge of the black lump. Then another.

The black lump —a _bug—_ looked up and screeched, a loud, raucous sound. Its harry body was metallic with six spindly legs, uncurling itself from the exposed flesh. White liquid dribbled from its mouth, dripping from the twitching feelers. Percy struck it with the edge of the scalpel, but the metal glanced harmlessly off of its skin.

_Oh great, _he thought._ I've just made it madder._

Without warning, it launched itself into the air and latched onto Percy's arm. There was a searing pain, and he instantly knew that the bug was trying to burrow into his skin. Only he _couldn't move;_ the world was contorting in ways he'd never known before. Percy's face twisted. In the back of his mind, he dimly registered that he had fallen stiffly against the ground. Alarmed cries rang in his ears.

_It's trying to get a new host._

Fog swept over his eyes. Percy struggled to retain it. Trembling, he positioned the shaking tip of the scalpel against the point where the bug had leeched its way in.

Screams. He faltered, swinging his head around to look for the source. A small black haired, crimson eyed boy was pulling, kicking, thrashing in his captor's arms, screaming. Percy tried to step forward, but found himself rooted to the ground.

"-not Mum, no, stop, stop hurting her! You're killing her! Let go-"

The unmistakable thud of a knife entering flesh rang through the air. The boy went limp, eyes misted over with disbelief and shock.

Dull laughter. The woman's eyes widened. Percy sucked in a breath, watching numbly as red seeped through her white clothes, eating away the purity.

"Not so strong now, are you, you monster? We're gonna kill you all, one by one, until your blood runs over our hands, until you beg for mercy-"

A tortured sob.

"No... Mum... wake up... you'll be okay, I'll get you somewhere safe..."

_This isn't real,_ Percy told himself. The thought didn't seem to register... he felt so _cold._ Like he could never get warm again. He gritted his teeth and forced the scalpel under his skin, feeling the lump that was the cause of so many hallucinations.

And suddenly _he_ was the little boy, clutching his mother's still form, feeling her heartbeat quiver, feeling his own heart shatter. He let out a howling scream, hands still stained with blood.

The boy's eyes snapped open. Something in him went so quiet. Something finally broke. For a moment, he felt nothing. He was nothing. Cold and impassive, he stared down at the laughing man, who looked as though he had just cracked some hilariously funny joke.

Only it wasn't funny. Not to him.

"I'm going to kill you," he said slowly, starting to get up. He set his mother gently onto the ground, as though not wanting to disrupt her sleep. "I'm going to rend you apart."

"I'd like to see you try, kid." The man was arrogant, his face twisted into a leer, sneering down at the child that looked like he had nothing left to live for.

_The worse enemy is one who has nothing left to lose._

Percy could hear the mocking laughs change to screams, but he didn't care. He_ loved_ the insanity of it all, the lust for revenge, the taste of rust on his lips. This man... _filth..._ harmed his most precious person. He would pay tenfold. He would _die._

It rained blood.

Percy forced the scalpel up, tearing the bug out in a spray of red and milky white.

The screams continued, one long, pain filled howl that seemed to shatter the earth. His eyesight faded to complete and utter blackness, and he was slammed back into his own body.

It was only after several minutes that he realized it was his own screams that echoed in his ears. He shoved his fist into his mouth and bit down, the sharp pain of his teeth biting through skin bringing a fresh wave of clarity into his mind, enough for him to gain his composure.

He laid like that for several moments, dark and still. The pain was beginning to clear. Percy opened his eyes, the world sharpening to crystal clarity. Blurs passed by, focusing into the pale faces of several nurses that hovered above him anxiously. One held a roll of bandages in a death grip. He could see the indents her fingers made in the fabric. She was trembling.

"Where—" he croaked.

"We burned it," Bandages said softly. Her bottom lip was trembling. "It was... you were..."

Gritting his teeth, Percy forced himself up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea flattened him again.

He hated this moment of weakness. For letting his mask crack. He should've known better. Been stronger.

"There's an... insect..." he slurred, still trying to struggle to his feet. He slapped away the nurses' hands, the ones that were trying to force him back down. "In their... arms... black lump—cut it out and drain... drain the pus... they'll be fine..."

"Wait," one nurse said, almost pleading. "Don't go. Your body isn't recovered. And we haven't been able to thank you yet. Do you know what you've done? You've found a cure—"

"No." Percy's voice sounded vaguely drunk, even to himself. "I must go."

"At least tell us your name," she said, definitely pleading now. "We need to be able to tell them all who saved their lives."

Percy hesitated. He couldn't very well call himself Percy now, since his former self had probably taboo-ed the name. He weighted the question muddily, before paranoia took over.

"I'm no one," he whispered, shaking his head, already moving away. They made no attempt to stop him, and Percy was grateful for that.

At the edge of the woods, past the makeshift hospital, he half turned to face his audience. They stood in a silent vigil. His eyes seemed to sparkle a thousand different colors in the dark light.

"Do yourself a favor." He said, his voice quiet.

Their vision started to fade away in blue flames. They could see his silhouette dissipating into the shadows. But still his voice lingered in their minds, whispering two last words.

_"Forget me."_


	8. Kenaz (Revelation)

**Author's Clarifications:** I find that there are some things that I need to clarify. This story was started as an_ alternate TLO_. Percy _does _have Achilles' curse, but it had been stripped from him when he was thrown into Tartarus. However, Grover also did not wake up in time to warn them.

**Replies:** _WideOpenSpacesGirl045_ - Sorry, I'll try to work on that :) and thank you for reading! Once Percy starts settling into his new world and starts earning some recognition for his skills, Reyna will be brought in. _Tally Jennifer Youngblood_ - I'm glad you liked it, it can be confusing at times. I dislike stories that just practically throw the plot in you face and say 'here, take this and like it!' Thanks for reading! _DeathmatchDrunkard_ - Finally! I've stumbled across an original idea (hopefully, it'll stay original for a while longer). Death has two sides, kind of like a balance. Justice, and mercy. The next, actual chapter will be focusing on the justice part (namely, killing people). Almost, you've almost got it. Except Percy is Erebus, so he served someone else... think... cliche'd character... ;) Nyx, nope. But you're on a right track. _Noridesu -_ (laughs) Oh, if only! It would save me so much trouble. I'm happy you enjoyed it, though. _northstarwarriorqueen_ - Percy will go back to normal eventually. A gloomy Percy simply isn't the same! Hmm, maybe I'll include something about Annabeth sometime. That's an idea worth considering. _FaTalClanWii_ - it was too long to summarize on here, so I sent you a PM :)

* * *

><p><em>"The pain... when will it end?" she asked. <em>

_He looked back with bitterness in his eyes. "No," he replied. "It never truly will."  
><em>

**Interlude**  
><em><strong>Kenaz<strong>_  
>‹<p>

_Rune for revelations, knowledge, humility, enlightenment._

Prompt—How did Camp react to Percy's death?

-o-

**Sally**

_"Oh come on, do I really have to—is this thing on? You know I'm not good with technology, Annabeth. Can't I just—I think it's recording already. _Err... hi, I guess. Feel free to ignore this, 'cause I'm only doing it because Annabeth says it's 'proper.' Ow! She just punched me. Anyways, you've reached Percy, well, you've reached my voicemail. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you when I get around to it. Chances are, you should probably call me again later. That's all."

_Beep._

"Percy..."

Sally felt a sob break in her throat and she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain it. Hastily dragging the heel of her palm across her eyes, she tried to even her voice.

"I..."

She swallowed down her tears, knowing that he couldn't answer her from the dead. Somehow, that made it hurt more, talking to a voicemail and pretending that Percy was still alive.

Gods damn it, Sally just needed to hear his _voice_ again.

But it was too much. It brought back too many memories. So much like _his. _Quiet yet powerful, gentle but fierce.

She slammed the phone back onto the receiver, her heart pounding. Her forehead struck the smooth plastic of the handle and tears dripped from the end of her nose. It tasted of salt and sadness.

That night, she listened to the voicemail three more times.

-o-

"...you've reached Percy—"

_Beep._

"Hi Percy, sorry I haven't called. I just..."

Sally's voice caught. Her mouth formed words, but none of them went past her lips.

_I miss you and need you back with me... I can't sleep, I can't eat, and the world's turned dark. There's just nothing left. I've lost my everything._

But she swallowed it down and managed a quick, "I have to go. Bye."

She hung up.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Thalia<strong>

Blue eyes widened. For a few seconds, she just stared in disbelief, unable to do anything else.

"You're shitting me," she finally managed to choke out, locking her glare accusingly on Nico. This was a trick. It had to be. "Nice try, Nico, but I'm not falling for that again."

Nico's fists clenched. His face was pale, too pale for this to be a joke. "Damn it, Thalia," he ground out. "Do you think I like this any more than you do? Do you think I _wanted_ this to happen?"

She blinked away the treacherous tears almost angrily. Why was she even crying? Percy _wasn't_ dead. He was too resilient, too stubborn for his own good. Kronos wouldn't be able to kill him. Percy must be just visiting his mother or something, and absent for the time being.

Thalia managed a weak laugh. It sounded forced, even to her. "Come on, Nico, drop the act. This isn't funny anymore."

An angry sound made its way past Nico's lips, part growl, part sob. "I wouldn't joke about something like this," he forced out. His eyes were glassy with pain, and they came up to meet Thalia's.

For a second, she felt nothing. Then the impact of the statement knocked all wind from her body.

"No..." she muttered. Thunderclouds rumbled in the far distance. _"NO!"_

Her hands struck Nico's shoulders and she slammed him into the wall, fists planted an inch from his head. Their noses were almost touching, and she could feel his cold breath on her skin. She was trembling, but from anger or disbelief, she wouldn't know.

They stayed that way for a little while. Thalia felt icy water drip down her cheeks. Her tears. She couldn't hold them back anymore.

"Thalia," Nico said softly. His hands gripped her wrists. She reared back, wrenching herself away.

"Prove it," she said, her voice dangerously soft, like the calm before a thunderstorm. "Summon him."

Nico looked down at his hands. His shoulders were tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't," he muttered in defeat. "It's like he's barred from me. I saw him die. I saw his soul depart into the underworld, but... but after that, he disappeared. I can't sense him anywhere."

"Then he's alive," Thalia insisted, her voice starting to ache. Heat throbbed behind her eyes. "He can't just _die_."

_He can't just die_ and if he did, she knew she would never forgive herself. Because it was _her_ fault that the prophecy condemned him to such a fate. It was meant for Thalia, but she joined the Hunters and escaped through immortality. She knew Percy could have done it too, could become his father's lieutenant and live a charmed life under the sea, but he didn't want to place his burdens on Nico. He cared about him enough to take his place and shoulder the weight of the world.

And Thalia didn't.

As if reading her rapidly fluctuating expressions, Nico placed a quiet hand on her arm. This time, she didn't shake him off. She was too numb, too cold.

"It's not your fault," he said, even though he looked like he was blaming himself. "There's nothing we could have done."

It was. Of course it was. But she said nothing, opting to half turn her head to stare at the blackened sea. Waves churned out white foam, the wind howling like the sea god's lament.

"Leave me alone... please." Her voice was heavy. It sounded foreign.

The dismal weather crackled as rain, slowly at first, then picking up momentum, drizzled onto the parched earth. Thunder drowned out her words. Lightning illuminated the desolate faces of the two demigods in its harsh light.

Nico nodded once, turning stiffly to retreat to the shadows. She felt vaguely guilty for snapping at him, but it was soon pushed away. When she was sure he wasn't listening anymore, her mask cracked.

Thalia dropped to her knees, buried her head, and screamed.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Chiron<strong>

He had watched them come and go. Heroes were born and made before being destroyed with a single a careful word, a careless action. He had watched the world burn and was able to do nothing to stop it.

For immortality was both a blessing and a curse. He loved being able to inspire young demigods, to teach them the ways of old. Without him, they would be lost. But mortals, even ones half god, were destroyed so easily. And he felt every one of their deaths most keenly.

Then there were wars. Carnage and bloodshed deftly painted the world with red. He remembered the Trojan Invasion, the bloody sacking of Ilium, the lives Hades had took upon that day. Within a few hours, a peaceful scene had transcended into a wild chaos. And Chiron prayed with all his heart never to see something of its caliber ever again.

After war came peace, lasting for several eons. He had been foolish enough to hope it would last. They say hindsight is 20/20.

He should have known better.

A prophecy was made, one warning of a child of the eldest gods. Fearing destruction, they swore an oath of abstinence to avoid the outcomes. Chiron warned them that fate was not so easily cheated, but they paid him no heed.

"It'll be fine," Zeus reassured him carelessly. "Our pact will hold."

And it did, for many years.

Ironically, Zeus was the first to crack. A famous actress, a false blame on alcohol (gods don't get drunk so easily), some scanty dresses, and suddenly he couldn't control himself. Whatever the excuses were, the result was the same. They had a beautiful little girl together, one named Thalia. Zeus tried to keep her hidden, displaying his rarely seen protective daddy mode.

But Chiron knew. He knew more than he'd ever let on.

Then the girl had gotten herself turned into a tree. It was a noble sacrifice; Chiron could respect that. But it made him wary. It would not be long before the others would break their pact.

Poseidon came next. It only proved to show that the sea god was not as dim-witted as the others had let on. He kept his relationship a secret, and not even Aphrodite knew that anything was amiss. Indeed, Chiron had not felt his presence until the day he showed up at camp.

Percy Jackson, son of the mortal, Sally Jackson, and the sea god, Poseidon.

_Powerful_ was the first word that came to mind. He had terrifying power. Water remained in every living thing on earth, and his inheritance would allow him to control blood. But it was balanced by his easy-going attitude and loyal beliefs. No matter what the Styx threw at him, he always stayed on top.

Chiron had tentatively let himself grow closer to the boy, despite his instincts screaming at him not to.

The first few years led him to believe that Percy had a death wish. Jumping into Hades, stealing away the Golden Fleece, exploding himself out of a volcano. But luck favored him, and the world came to know him as a hero.

Chiron, once again, allowed himself to hope.

Then Percy disappeared. One day he was there, and suddenly, he was not.

The campers searched for him high and low (although some did so reluctantly), and Poseidon was beside himself. Chiron had never seen the sea god so frantic and agitated before, and the thought warmed his heart, despite the circumstances. If only the other gods could care half as much...

Three months later, Hermes found Percy when he sacrificed food in his honor. He and Michael Yew, who had been MIA since the destruction of the Williamsburg Bridge, had arrived back at camp just in time to save it from the invasion. Michael rallied the campers, motivating them to keep fighting, and Percy had been the one to put out the fire and kill Menoetius, son of Iapetius.

The Titan's frozen form was proudly displayed next to Thalia's Tree and the Golden Fleece.

Apollo nursed Percy back to health in Olympus. Poseidon never left his bedside, his wide eyes taking in his son as though committing him to memory. It was another month before Percy recovered well enough to leave the sun god's infirmary and be moved to Poseidon's underwater palace.

The camp (some of it, anyways) welcomed Percy back with open arms, with Chiron in its lead. Seeing Percy, the strain between his eyebrows had disappeared for the first time in months.

But Percy had changed.

It was almost unnoticeable, but Chiron had not lived for eons without learning how to read people. He carried himself more cautiously, his eyes more weary and guarded. At every little noise, ones so tiny hardly anyone else had heard it, his fingers would twitch before he visibly restrained himself. Chiron knew that he was reaching for a weapon. The thought saddened him. What did they do to his student during that time?

Every time he entered a room, his eyes would immediately skirt to the roof, the windows, the floor, and the door. Planning escape routes and possible threats. He seemed to know where every hidden weapon was without being told, a skill which greatly impressed the newer campers. But the ones that had known him as the happy-go-lucky demigod that never charged into a fight with a plan, watched him with concern. They tried to help, but Percy shut them out.

It was only after much coaxing and threatening and pleading that Chiron finally wheedled some names out of Percy.

Morpheus. Hecate. Hyperion.

The only other source of information that he'd gotten, he admitted a bit shamefully, were Percy's dreams. Nightmares plagued him every night, and with every day that went past, the black circles around his eyes grew darker. Still, he smiled and acted like nothing was wrong. Everyone else was fooled.

Chiron gained new names from those nightmares, ones which made no sense.

Nyx. Aether. Someone named Hemera. Phanes (this name was always accompanied by cursing in an archaic language that sounded older than the gods). Chronus. Names of other Primordials that Percy should not know about but somehow did. Chiron had tried to wake Percy up once, but he'd only made it worse. So he could only sit there and watch helplessly as his favorite student thrashed and screamed.

_I refuse. Embrace the hatred. Don't go. I did nothing..._

These phrases repeated in his nightmares over and over. Apollo had no way of helping. He tried his best, and Chiron could see the worry that lined his normally cheerful visage. Artemis, who'd accompanied her brother, had snorted and bonked Apollo on the head with her bow. She left, but not before patting Percy on the back reassuringly and offering him a small smile.

"Everything will be okay," she'd said. "Apollo and I will make sure of it."

Percy returned the smile weakly, but Chiron could see the tiredness in his eyes. They matched his own.

It didn't help that they were in the middle of a war, one that had initiated during the months Percy had been kidnapped. Kronos had lead his forces out of Tartarus and into San Francisco. From his base, he attacked at random, slaying many of the Camp's demigods. But his_ father_ (the word was bitter on his tongue) always left one alive to serve as a messenger, Kronos' warning carved onto their skin in a neat, looping cursive.

_Bring me Jackson and this will all end. You have two weeks... two weeks to make your choice. Stand by me or be destroyed._

Chiron was relieved to see that none of the campers even thought twice about the offer, metaphorically throwing it into the garbage bin and moving onto more important matters.

But the attacks continued, and the resistance against the idea was slowly being brought down.

"Why should we die for him?" some demanded. "Why risk our lives when this can all be diverted?"

Psychological torture and isolation. Kronos had always been fond of playing with his victims before killing them. Chiron did his best to counteract the effects by reassuring the camp, but it did little good. He was a mentor, not a manipulator.

Worse still, it looked like even Percy himself was becoming receptive to the idea. He barely seemed to sleep now, mostly staring out at the ocean whenever he thought others weren't watching. A few tried to reach out to him, but they were rebuffed by his cold exterior. He didn't seem to want them to get close.

Then Richard had come and what was barely hanging on by a thread broke at last. The tension became almost palpable. Percy was alienated, and he seemed to take out his frustrations into training. The younger campers mocked him, taunting him for being a traitor and a spy, for being a cold-hearted murderer. Why else would Kronos be so keen on getting his hands on Percy? They did not know of the prophecy, and the counsellors who knew weren't able to tell. The gods had forbidden it.

Chiron tried his best... he really did. But sometimes even his best wasn't good enough.

The old Percy would have beaten the hell out of anyone who dared to imply that he was disloyal to the gods. But it all reminded Chiron too well that Percy had changed... his innocence was gone. Sometimes, Chiron wished he would come back. This cold, impassive mask that the new Percy had wrought was frightening, as if he'd forsaken humanity and friendship.

But he was strong. Chiron could admire that. If the situations were reversed, the centaur knew he would have deserted or resorted to violence long ago.

Still, even the strongest of them all could not outlast the hostility he was treated with.

Percy asked to leave.

"I can't take this anymore," he'd confided, letting a bit of his old self to show through. "I keep seeing them dying, and it's not like they don't want me to go."

Chiron gave him permission —how could he not?— and Percy gave him a last side smile, before his face blanked and cooled.

He could only watch helplessly as his greatest student turned bitter to the world.

-o-

They brought him a body, carted over on a small stretcher.

"Who was this?" Chiron had asked, silently gritting his teeth and condemning his father to the pits of Tartarus in his mind.

The camper gave him a look. With a small jolt, Chiron recognized him. Travis. Travis Stoll, son of Hermes. His face was almost unrecognizable without that saucy smirk. Covered with dirt and monster dust, his mouth pulled downwards. When he spoke, it was in a quiet and somber voice, most unlike his usually jesting tones.

"You truly don't know?" he had said quietly. Chiron shook his head, feeling a knot start to form in his stomach. Travis pointed at the stretcher, still covered with a white cloth. With a quick movement, he pulled away the fabric from the head of the figure.

Black hair, closed green eyes, a small, half smile. A necklace with four clay beads. The entire body was coated with a thin layer of blood and ichor. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Percy would never allow himself to be carried around like that.

Someone had laid Riptide over his chest, closing his fingers around the hilt. His arms formed an X over the armor, hiding his fatal wound not quite successfully. A bloody scythe lay next to him, the blade damaged and torn.

Kronos' scythe.

"Percy's dead, Chiron." Travis said hoarsely.

Chiron stared at the body, almost uncomprehending. He almost expected Percy to sit up with a goofy grin plastered over his face, shouting _"surprise!"_

But he didn't, and his form was still. He looked to be sleeping. Maybe if Chiron shook him hard enough...

With trembling fingers, the centaur pulled the white sheet back over Percy's face. He had seen enough. He was going to be sick.

"We just wanted to let you know, Chiron," Travis said, his voice heavy and dead. "You know... because you cared for him."

Chiron forced himself to plaster a sickeningly fake smile over his face. He could tell, by Travis' expression, that it was not working.

"I... I shall be taking my leave, then. Thank you... Travis..."

He wheeled himself out of the Big House. The acrid smell of rust still followed his nose. If only for one night, he could forget his troubles. Forget his failures.

Chiron wasn't a drinker. But he knew that tonight, he was going with Mr. D to get so drunk he could barely stand.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Grover<strong>

A sharp jolt of pain brought him to his knees. Grover gasped and doubled over, his hands wrapped around his middle. The grimy reports still clutched in his hands dropped onto the ground, scattering in a puddle of rain. The ink ran, blurring into a halo of muddy words.

His legs crumpled underneath him, and Grover's head smacked against the pavement. Stars burst in his eyes, great explosions of light.

Alarmed shouts rang in his ears.

"—ambulance—"

"—quick, he—"

"—what's going—"

Someone bent over to grab Grover and rush him to a hospital, but he gripped the man's wrist weakly.

"I'm... alright..." he forced out. His eyes were squeezed shut, waiting for the pain to fade away. It seemed to go on forever.

A few minutes later, his heartbeat evened, the spasms stopped, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Everything hurt.

He felt raw. Vulnerable. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"—hang on," the man was saying. "I'll call an ambulance."

Grover pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the wave of nausea that threatened to bowl him over. He stuffed the rasta cap back over his head, relieved that the man hadn't seen his horns or his hooves. Rain trickled through his hair, flattening his usually curly locks.

"I'm okay..." he staggered like a drunken bat.

"No, you're not." The mortal's dark eyes followed him. "You need to see a doctor."

Grover shook his head, but stopped as the motions gave him a killer headache. The world swooped under his feet. "It's a, uh, it's fine," he lied. "I'll be alright. Just some rest and a bit of food."

The man hesitated. "Well, if you're sure," he said slowly.

Grover agreed a little too quickly. "Yeah, no problem. But thanks."

The man's somber expression cracked a small grin. He clapped Grover's shoulder, making him wince. "Hey, no problem. Us New Yorkers have to stick together, you know? Especially after all of these attacks and stuff."

He walked off. Grover paused in bemusement, wondering over his last sentence. Attacks? What attacks?

Wait...

A cold, stony weight dropped into his stomach. Whirling around to face the retreating back of the mortal, he yelled, "Hey! One more question... what month is it?"

The black hat on the man's head swiveled backwards. Rain pittered against his umbrella, dripping off the spokes in a small stream.

A flash of lightning; thunder drowned out his words. But Grover could read the perplexity on his face as he shouted back, "September, why?"

_September. _

_This is a joke._

He dropped everything and bolted towards a newspaper stand, snatching up a copy, ignoring the salesman's protests. Bolded words practically screamed out its message.

**MANHATTAN ATTACKED, THE AFTERMATH  
>NYC Brought to its Knees<strong>

_"Six months..."_ he whimpered.

He had been asleep for _more_ than six months. Percy was already sixteen by now... what of the prophecy? Morpheus... the invasion... his warning... searching... it all flooded back to him in great waves. Grover clutched his head, dropping the paper into a puddle.

"No," he muttered, panicked. "This isn't happening..."

But it was. The final battle had started and ended without him, and the destruction all around attested to that. He could still pick out smears of gold and rust colored stains against the smashed bricks. The ruins seemed to leer at him.

Fumbling, he made his way to a pay phone and all but slammed the needed coins into the slot. His fingers punched in a familiar number. The keys formed a pleasant melody, and a cool female voice told him to stay on the line.

_"—you've reached Percy—"_

Frustrated, Grover dialed again, his foot tapping impatiently. Rain lashed out, forming a drumming rhythm against the roof of the phone stall.

Voicemail. No answer.

The third time, however, a somber voice answered.

"Who's there?"

"Percy, that you?" Grover's voice tumbled out. "I have no idea what's going on... I just woke up and people are telling me it's _September... _and the attacks, what happened to the Titans?"

Percy snorted roughly. "S'that you, Gregory?"

The voice was too slurred, too deep to be his. Grover froze, the receiver dropping from his limp hands. He fumbled with it, barely managing to catch it before it smashed against the ground. _Calm down,_ he told himself hastily._ You're just jumping to conclusions._

"Mr. D...? Wha... what are you doing with Percy's phone? And where's Percy?"

The voice on the other side was quiet, and Grover thought that the god had hung up. But after a few cold moments, Dionysus' voice crackled with static, blaring through so that there could be no mistaking his words. "Jackson's dead, satyr."

_Dead. Percy. Not possible._

_No... nononononon..._

Grover laughed, a wild, breathless sound. "You've got to be _kidding_ me," he said, clutching at the phone like a lifeline. "This _isn't_ happening..."

"Well, it is," Mr. D snapped, his temper flaring faster than usual. "Got himself impaled by Kronos after that girl Annabeth's death—"

Grover all but collapsed, a hysterical scream bubbling on his lips. _No... not her too..._

"—and then they slaughter each other, end of story. Meanwhile, I was knocked out somewhere in the mountains. The gods held off Typhon."

"I... have to go," Grover stammered, his whole body wracked with sobs and shaking. "I'll..."

"Just... just take a break or something," Mr. D said harshly. There was an underlying tint of sadness and regret in his voice. "Just go."

"I will, sir," he whispered hoarsely. He made to hang up, but Dionysus' voice repeated a last message before clicking shut.

"The funeral's in three days. Be there."

The line went dead. Shrill tones. Grover let the receiver drop into place, feeling numbness overtake the cavity that was supposed to be his heart.

He had failed. His promise to protect Percy... in the end, he wasn't even _there._ If he had been more careful, less arrogant, maybe... maybe...

Grover buried his head in his hands. He barely noticed dragging himself out of the stall before he slid down the side of a wrecked wall, the sharp catches pulling at his skin.

A passerby threw money at his feet. No doubt his haggard appearance and unkempt clothes made him look homeless. But he was past caring.

His best friend was gone. The one who supported him, believed in him, trusted him to the bottom of his heart, protected him to the last... gone.

Grover had always been called _odd_ and _unusual_ by his fellow satyrs. _Look at that runt,_ they would say, sneering and pointing at him behind his back. _He'll always be weak and useless._

But while he wasn't so good at woodlands magic, he could see colors no one else could see, colors that lit up his life like fireworks exploding in a night sky, red and white and gold and green and so many colors at the same time. They took away his breath with their magnificence and the sheer beauty that boasted of strength and charm.

Then the war struck, and one by one, his friends left him. The brightest ones were the last to go, a beautiful sea green and a stormy gray being extricated by the darkness until he was alone once more, surrounded by the colorless. And then he realized why everyone else was so blind, why they could not see what hidden gems they had missed.

Because the sun had set on his midnight and all he could see were shades of gray.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Clarisse<strong>

She disliked the punk, that was for sure. But he was brave, and had leapt into the embrace of death without fear in his eyes. As a daughter of Ares, she could respect that.

She disliked him, yes, but didn't want him to die. It was too late for her to save him now, watching as the blood ceased to flow out of his wounds. No, he was long gone. All that remained was an empty shell, one that would never wake.

For the first time in her life, she was sick of it all. Fighting was in her blood, but there was something hopelessly pointless about all of this slaughtering. All of this carnage. Silena, Percy, so many others. Why were they fighting for the gods, when they didn't even acknowledge their presence?

But maybe there was a reason the punk supported them to the end. Clarisse would try to understand that.

Percy's glassy eyes stared blankly up at the sky, unseeing and cold. A small smile still curled his lips, defiant in death as he had been in life. A bitter wave of nostalgia made her throat close over.

She reached out a hand and slid his eyes shut, bowing her head and allowing a single tear to fall.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Mrs. O'Leary<strong>

Master-of-heart was gone. She sniffed around, trying to locate him. But his presence was nowhere to be found.

His trail was very hard to find and very old. It wound along one street and ended in a dead end, before leaping from the rooftops to another section of the city. Several times, she lost the scent because of that blasted pigeon horse.

In the end, she found him sleeping on a hill. Another figure lay on top of him, eyes closed too. She recognized the matted blonde hair, and a growl formed in her throat. She shoved him off roughly, where his body tumbled end over end to the bottom of the long grass.

Mrs. O'Leary nudged Master-of-heart, whimpering and licking his face with her big pink tongue, but he wouldn't respond. His eyes were still open, faded and pale, but they were still _his_ eyes. Yet he didn't seem to see her, even though her bulk took up almost the whole area.

The hellhound whined, her tail lashing restlessly between her legs. Her voice was high and keening. He looked so... vulnerable. But she would protect him now. She would.

She scooped Master's body between her paws, careful not to scratch him with her claws. His head lolled limply, like those cheap porcelain things little two-legged girls played with. Fragile. Mrs. O'Leary crouched down protectively, shielding his body from the pointy sticks and flashy toothpicks that lodged in her fur. She whimpered in pain, but stayed her vigil.

Night fell. The sounds of screams and clashing of metal eventually died down. The sun was hovering in the sky and Master-of-heart still had not waken. She nudged him tenderly with her nose, but his hand was ice.

War Girl had approached, her eyes tired and face splattered with blood and ash. Mrs. O'Leary watched her warily, but let her pass. She knelt by him, muttering something under her breath before reaching out and closing his eyes. It was not long before she collapsed as well, her arm flopping uselessly over her chest as she skidded down the slope.

Then the other people came, swarming like ants. Mrs. O'Leary growled and swatted them away. _No one_ else was to get close to Master. She saw the way they had treated him, and she wished nothing more than to crush in their puny skulls. But Master would be disappointed in her, and she couldn't stand that. So she sheathed her claws and tried to restrain her anger and blind rage.

He was so still... just like Wise-Master, who had disappeared into a column of ashes and dust. But Master-of-heart was here, so he must be still with her, right?

"Mrs. O'Leary," someone called wearily. Her head swiveled, one large, intelligent eye coming to rest on the boy that smelled of death and shadows. He raised his hand, and she allowed him to pet his fur.

Mrs. O'Leary barked loudly, each louder than thunder, trying to convey her concern for Master. Maybe Death Boy could help. Maybe he knew what to do.

But he only looked at her sadly, his hand fisting in her fur. "I'm sorry, girl," he whispered. "He's gone."

Gone? No, he wasn't gone, she tried to tell him. He's right here. Tentatively, she moved her paws away from Master-of-heart's still form, moaning and pacing around in a tight circle, her tail lashing in agitation.

Death Boy knelt down next to him, biting his lip bloody.

"I failed, Mrs. O'Leary," he told her softly. "I failed."

-o-

They took him away. They took him away and out of her sight.

She didn't sleep for three nights.

-o-

The next time she saw him, he was still asleep. His face was pale but regal, quietly displaying his authority.

The people wrapped him in a green silk shroud, and Mrs. O'Leary became alarmed. They only did that to the ones who had passed. Master-of-heart wasn't dead. He wasn't. He wasn't...

But they let flames envelope his body and Mrs. O'Leary howled.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Zeus<strong>

He did not feel guilty.

It was for the good of Olympus, he reassured himself. It was a justified thing to do. They couldn't have Kronos coming back a third time. It would be disastrous, and, if he crushed down his massive ego, he knew that they could not survive another attack.

Kronos, upon seeing that his end was coming, decided that he would get his revenge through death. He wasn't called the master manipulator for nothing, and one way or another, he always won. This only proved it.

The Titan had shifted a piece of himself into his nephew's body, a small fragment of his soul.

Zeus threw the both of them into Tartarus, keeping the whole thing hushed up. Poseidon was Perseus' father, and would threaten him with another civil war if he was to even _think_ about touching his 'precious son.' And Hades... while his estranged brother didn't like the demigod, he held some semblance of respect for returning his Helm all those years ago.

A small twinge ached in his heart, but he smothered it down. True, the boy had been beneficial for saving Olympus countless times and returning his _own_ master bolt, but the risks were too great. Perseus would understand.

Silently mouthing a sour apology, he dropped them into the pit and watched as darkness swallowed them.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel<strong>

She woke with a scream on her lips.

Sometime during the night, the bedsheets had tangled around her legs. Rachel kicked them off, breathing heavily. Her voice came in hysterical little gasps.

"This isn't happening." She flung her arms around her knees. "It's just a dream. Just another nightmare."

But as she looked at all of the half-finished sketches hastily thrown onto canvas, she knew she could not persuade herself otherwise any longer. It was no longer a vision. It had become reality.

Trembling, Rachel reached for a phone, dialing a number with a well-practiced ease. After several shrill beeps, someone picked up. The voice on the other end sounded half-asleep.

"Sup, my little oracle?" He yawned largely, cutting off the rest of his words. "Look, I know I'm awesome and you just couldn't stand waiting until morning to talk to my epicness, but—"

"Apollo," Rachel interrupted, biting her nails raw. "I had a vision."

There was silence on the other end. Rachel could hear the shuffling of papers, and then Apollo's voice came back, sharper and alert. "Yes?"

"I..." Rachel took a deep breath. "I can't talk about it here. Someone might overhear. I need to speak with Hermes. Please. It's important."

Another pause. Then the sun god said, "Hermes is coming. We'll meet you at the Empire State Building lobby in fifteen minutes. Be there."

Rachel ended the call and slipped the phone into her pocket. Her eyes hardened, chips of flint that turned away from the grotesque works of art she had drawn.

There was a debt to repay.

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Nico<strong>

"Where is he..."

The clinks of silverware at the table stopped immediately. All eyes turned to the small form slumped at the far end. His head was down, throwing the rest of his face in shadow. A hand clenched the table corner, white knuckles standing out on bruised and bloody skin.

Hades raised his head and looked into his son's eyes, indifferent and calm. "I'm afraid I do not know what you are talking about," he replied evenly, focusing back on the food he was cutting up with a knife. Persephone snorted.

"Delusional, that one is," she complained. "Darling, you _ought_ to get rid of him. All he does is take up space. I could put flowers there, but nooo. He had to sully the air with his taint."

Nico showed no signs of reacting, other than a brief tightening of his lips.

"Neefth mrore thereal," Demeter pronounced, her words garbled from the food in her mouth. She swallowed and continued, taking a sip of water. "And farm work! Got no muscles on those bones, that one."

Hades rolled his eyes. "Do shut up, _mother."_

Then they were back to bickering. It was as if Nico never existed. As if the question was never asked. Normally, Nico would grit his teeth and shovel down his food, disregarding Persephone's tsk-ings at his poor table manners.

But this time... it was different.

His fork was clenched in his hand, visibly trembling with rage. "Enough," he said quietly. They didn't even spare him a glance. For the millionth time, Nico felt his impotence. If only he was _stronger..._

"—mother, stop already with the cereal—"

"—is my _daughter,_ living in this _dump_—"

"—Demeter, be silent—"

Nico ground his teeth. His patience was wearing thin. "_Listen_ to me..."

"—just _had_ to eat the pomegranate and leave your poor mother alone—"

"—that was millenia ago—"

"—my _palace_ is not a dump—"

"—well, I beg to differ—"

They were ignoring him. Just like they ignored him back in the Casino. Just like they ignored Bianca when she dying and alone. Just like they ignored him every single day of his life... as if they wished he didn't exist...

Nico slammed his knife into the table. His voice came out as a roar, tearing out of his throat in a howl of anger and despair.

"THAT'S _**ENOUGH!"**_

Conversations died immediately. The attention turned to the panting boy, his face flushed and eyes bright with chilling coldness.

"What, brat?" Persephone snapped, breaking the silence first. "Can't you see we're trying to have a civil conversation here?"

A fork embedded itself in the wall next to her head. The handle quivered with force, shaking back and forth as the wall beneath the tines cracked. Persephone yelped, dodging at the last minute before turning to Hades in a whirl of indignation.

"Did you see that, husband?" she demanded. "Get _your_ brat under control!"

"Enough, Nico," Hades rumbled. His eyes glinted in the pale light. "That was going too far. Attacking your mother... have you no shame?"

"No," Nico spat out. "I don't. Because she's not my mother."

"Why, you _insolent_ little—"

"A mother," he interrupted, his tone icy, "doesn't insult her son every opportunity she gets. A mother doesn't hope her son will die as soon as possible. A mother doesn't ignore her son, and she certainly doesn't wish that_ he never existed!"_ By the end of his passionate speech, his voice had turned into a shout. He took a shaking breath, trying to ease his flushed nerves.

"You... are not my mother. _My_ mother died many years ago, along with_ my_ father."

Silence.

"_I am your father!_" Hades bellowed. The metal under his hands twisted like a pretzel. The glass cupped in his hands shattered into a thousand iridescent pieces. Ichor mixed in with the gaudy red wine, staining the tablecloth.

Nico met the death god's glare evenly. "A father doesn't side with his wife every time," he said bitterly. "You never listen to what I have to say. You never even look at me. And why? Is it because I remind you too much of—"

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Hades roared, spittle launching from his lips. He had half risen, his flat palms curled on either side of his plate, leaning forward. He towered above Nico, throwing him into his father's shadow, but he didn't look intimidated.

"As your Majesty wishes," Nico mocked, his chair clattering to the floor. He sketched a disrespectful bow before heading towards the door. The black handle twisted; Nico stopped. His fingers wrapped around the metal and he half turned to glare at the immortals from the edge of his eyes.

"Whatever you're hiding about Percy," he told them quietly, "I will find out. I'm no longer that little kid you can just kick around. And then, if you had anything to do with why he isn't in the Elysium..." Nico turned around suddenly, his eyes wide and teeth bared in a feral snarl.

The temperature dropped twenty degrees.

"—I will _destroy_ you."

-o-

* * *

><p><strong>Richard<strong>

He supposed he should feel sorry. He supposed he should feel remorseful, or guilty, or whatever crap the others were feeling at the moment.

But he wasn't. No, all he felt was a kind of vindictive _pleasure_. He would _never_ have to be second best again. Never be compared to the _other_ son of Poseidon. He could become the favorite child, the legendary hero. And he felt anger at his half-brother for stealing that away from him.

_You steal away my dream,_ he thought sadistically_, and I'll steal yours._

That girl. The one with the blonde hair and grey eyes. Daughter of Athena. That was Percy's dream.

He thought it would be easy. A few quick words, sly grins, and she would be his. Only he hit a few... _complications._

...she gave him the finger, slapped him in the face, and kneed him where the sun doesn't shine.

Richard felt his pride and ego suffer at the hands of that _wench,_ but he was determined to take what was rightfully his. But the humiliation was too much. Everywhere he went, the red handprint on his cheek seemed to draw the snickers and whispers of the entire camp.

Richard gritted his teeth angrily. He needed a new plan.

Aphrodite was easy to charm. For a goddess of love, she could be so easy to manipulate. Richard felt a self-satisfied smirk show through, and he didn't bother to push it down.

He'd stolen some of Aphrodite's love potion. For all extents and purposes, it smelled and tasted of alcohol, masking its true form. When no one was looking, he'd "accidentally" brushed by Annabeth's goblet, nearly sending it crashing to the ground.

"Watch it," she had snapped, giving him a withering look.

"Sorry." Richard forced himself to divert his gaze to his feet. It wouldn't do for her to see the malicious smirk that had spread across his face. Watching him through half-lidded eyes, Annabeth took a sip.

Her expression changed. From annoyed to confused, and then to pure lust. Richard grinned at Percy's narrowed glare, resisting the shiver of _delight_ that crawled down his back.

"An eye for an eye..." he whispered coldly, licking his lips in anticipation.

"—isn't that right, _brother?"_


	9. Fehu (New Beginnings)

**Author's Scribbles (Excuses): **If you must know, I was skiing in the trails with a few of my friends to look for someone who had lagged behind. I couldn't stop in time and crashed into my friend (who was just _standing_ in the middle of the trail), a tree, and then promptly gave myself a pretty impressive nosebleed.

So you can understand why I wasn't in the writing mood. That's why this chapter is so late. I'll get to editing it later, when I'm not so royally pissed off.

**Important Note:** I've gone back and **edited** all of the previous chapters to make it mesh together better, as well as to fix any minor errors that may have occurred. You don't need to read it all again, but I would recommend that you do if you're still confused, because I've added a scene that should explain how Percy started to merge with Erebus.

**Review Replies:** [_northstarwarriorqueen]_-thank you for bouncing ideas with me!; [_WeAreTheWorld]_-well, I think Pertemis is a little bit too overused now. It's time for me to start a new trend ;);_ [Intellectually]_-I'm glad you liked it! And yes, Percy will eventually be crossing dimensions, but he still has to get this one under control first. Wise-Master was a reference to Daedalus; [_FaTaLClanWii]_-no, Mrs. O'Leary got to Percy when both he and Kronos-Luke had already killed each other. She thinks that when people die, they erupt into ashes like Daedalus had. Clarisse collapsed out of exhaustion. Percy will be returning to the real world later on. Reyna will be factored in quite soon, and the Ancient times are just memories that Percy still needs to regain; [_2airtoon2000]_-in case you haven't noticed, this story isn't a romance story. Yes, Percy and Reyna will get together, and it will be pretty epic. Just not yet; [_JACKSON]_-it will get happier! Trust me, but I'm glad you think it's good; [_CookieMonstAri]_-yes! My life goal is complete. I've finally written an adequate piece of fanfiction. If you have any questions though, feel free to ask; [_DeathmatchDrunkard]_-I've revised the whole story to better clarify when Percy started to merge with Erebus. It started after he dipped in the Styx, as it _is_ the river of lost hopes and dreams. This sparked a change in him that was only fed by the despair he encountered in Tartarus. And while I do love Nico, very much, he's not going to get the chance to start another world war, and neither will Thalia. Yes, the previous chapter was when he was taken out of Tartarus by Death and reinstated as her champion. As for Percy's mother, (Chaos is a guy in this), think... the Greek monster version of a veela from Harry Potter; [_WideOpenSpacesgirl045]_; only three times? You're a lot more merciful than I ;) You're going to hate Richard a whole lot more by the end of this chapter. Reyna's coming soon!; [_newfoundedfantasy]_-thank you, and I'll do my best; [_BeautifulNoMatterWhat]_-I shudder to think of the bloodbath that will ensure!; Tally Jennifer Youngblood-I've re-edited the whole story, so maybe it'll help clarify any confusions. If not, feel free to drop a message; _[Demitri Vaughan Amante_]-I'm thrilled that you like this story! Maybe I've finally written something worth reading... that's an encouraging thought. You're going to hate Richard a lot more by the end of this chapter; I'm debating the best ways to kill him right now...; [_Wrestling is my best skill]_-thank you! :); [_ShadowFireZelda]_-yes, indeed he has;_ [ThePhilospherOfOld]_-awe, you're making me blush. Thank you :); [_sh8ad8ow]_-I would certainly hope so; [_Guest]_-Percy and Erebus were one and the same. Erebus struck a deal with Death (that will be explained later on), and as a result, Death made him her champion. But since he was already dead, Death reincarinated him as Percy.

I'm flattered so many people like this story. I hope this chapter does not disappoint.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>"I've finally realized...it's too late."<em>

**Chapter IV**  
><em><strong>Fehu<strong>_  
>ŧ<p>

_Rune for new beginnings, wealth, freedom._

Thalia was sitting at the Hades table, watching as Nico scowled and prodded his food with a fork. It wasn't protocol for her to be here, but neither of them could be bothered to adhere to the rules anymore. None of the other campers dared to call them out on it, and the bossier ones were quickly silenced by her scathing glare, the one she learned from watching Zeus. Thalia had to admit that it did work pretty well, even if it did contort her face in ways that she didn't even know existed.

"—don't know what's up with him," she was saying, chewing absently on a piece of bread. Neither of them really put much focus into their conversation, but it helped to fill the gaping silence that threatened to swallow them alive. Thalia took a small sip of her drink, frowning slightly at the bitter taste. "Zeus has been acting pretty, well, _odd,_ even by his standards. But—hey, Nico, are you listening? _Nico?"_

Nico hadn't replied in a while, and when Thalia turned to give him a curious glance, he didn't even look up. His face was twisted in a peculiar expression and he stared, unblinking, at his plate. Something gnawed in Thalia's stomach, a kind of dread that refused to go away. She pushed it aside and tried for a smile.

"What did your food ever do to you? You look like it was trying to kill you or something."

The glass clenched in his hand shattered in a spray of shrapnel, sending drops of his blood edging down the piece piercing his hand. Nico still didn't blink, as though the pain never even registered in his mind. His brow was scrunched into a confused frown, like he was puzzled over why he had suddenly toppled off of his bench with a sickening crack. Thalia had half risen in alarm, but he couldn't hear her voice; everything was just a buzz in his head that never went away...

And then the bemusement was contorted by the sheer agony that suddenly burned him from the inside out, liquefying his bones until he was sure he was screaming, but no sound left his mouth...

None of the campers had noticed that anything was amiss. Thalia shouted something unintelligible, throwing herself to her knees beside him, her eyes ablaze with horror and fright.

"Nico?" she said frantically, rolling her cousin over. His head lolled limply, dark eyes lifeless and empty, the pain in them blissfully faded. "Nico? Wake up, stop scaring me! Nico! This isn't funny!"

The demigod didn't move. A surge of panic rose in Thalia's throat, and she shook his arm harder. It probably wasn't the best thing to do to a possibly severely injured person, but for the first time in so long, she was terrified.

Nico's skin was already cold. When Thalia fumbled for his wrist, she found no pulse.

"No..." she whispered, her voice rising with panic. "No... this isn't happening... wake up, goddamnit! Don't leave me!"

Her screams seemed to knock some of the closest campers into action. They dragged her, kicking and screaming, away from his body, dodging her clumsy fists and flailing limbs as struggled to break free.

Chiron knelt down on his front legs, two fingers pressed to the son of Hades' neck. But when his head bowed and he slowly closed Nico's eyes, Thalia felt the last bit of hope in her chest shatter.

She began to laugh, a horrid sound that echoed hysterically in her chest. The grief was too much for her to handle; she had lost everything, her life had been snatched away from her.

_"You..."_

Her wild eyes spun to the remaining son of Poseidon, who looked at her with a badly formed expression of shock. But after spending years on the run with a child of deception and trickery, she could see right through his mask, see right through the innocence he was portraying. Richard radiated smugness, a kind of self-satisfied glee that betrayed the truth of his actions.

"I will _rip_ you apart—"

Thalia stalked closer, her hands trembling with barely suppressed anger. The air crackled with discharging ozone, and the campers that tried to stop her from reaching her intended target were pushed to the side with a force that left them paralyzed and twitching.

"Child—" Chiron started halfheartedly, but Thalia paid him no attention, her body crackling with trapped lightning.

"I know it was you," she whispered. Already, the poison was starting to work its way through her body, making her see black spots. She pressed on, breathing harshly. "You... you cannot hide the truth forever. There is nowhere under the sun you can hide from me. I will...have your soul."

Blood spilled from her lips and she thudded to the ground, life draining away from her expressive blue eyes.

* * *

><p>For some odd reason, trouble always found Percy in the most inopportune ways.<p>

He was walking down the cobbled streets, trying to blend in —"You need to learn the ability to hide in plain sight, Percy," Death had said— when the earth itself began to rumble, throwing civilians and buildings alike tumbling to the ground. Percy was only able to keep standing because of his status as the son of the Earthshaker.

He had reached immediately for the black crystal winking coldly from around his neck. It would mean blowing his cover, but Percy had never exactly been subtle.

Before he could decide what to do, a fissure split the ground in two, revealing the open maw of lava that bubbled and foamed beneath the surface. Shockwaves rippled through the air; not enough to kill or do any lasting damage, but just enough to be taken as more than a rumble of the earth. Civilians screamed, some of them panicking as their shoes began to melt from the intense heat.

The ground erupted, bubbling and churning as a skeletal hand burst out in flecks of dirt. The bone was clean and white, like vultures had picked off all of the flesh.

In that instant, Percy had twisted the crystal of his scythe, still trapped in pendant form, and an image shivered over his own, static disrupting the illusion. He couldn't have people drawing the connection between him and Erebus —he'd found that out the hard way when people screamed something in that odd language of theirs and ran like the devil himself was on their heels. Maybe to them, he was.

In the mayhem, no one noticed when a black haired, green eyed boy was replaced by a figure with a shock of dark brown hair and chilling blue eyes.

"Messenger," Percy intoned in a bored voice, stepping forward. The skeleton turned to him, fixing those hollow eye sockets on Percy, who tried not to show how much they unnerved him. It had the effect of almost staring into his soul. "Has Death called for me?"

The civilians around him backed away hastily, not understanding the English but not wanting to risk getting caught in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation. They probably thought he summoned the skeleton to massacre them all. Silly mortals. If he wanted to do that, they would all be dead.

Joints creaked in the skeleton's spine as its head moved in what looked like a stiff, jerking nod. From its ribcage, it drew out a blood red scroll emblazoned with the image of a black scythe.

Percy exhaled slowly, taking the summons gingerly as though it could explode in his face at any time. Another elimination mission. He took a moment to slit open the seal with his thumb, unfurling the parchment to flick his eyes quickly over the message.

"Fine," he said aloud. He snapped the scroll shut, strapping it to his back. "It will be done."

The messenger gave him another sharp nod, holding out a clenched hand and slowly unfurling the joints, each crack sending the sound of a gunshot echoing over the silent crowd. Percy took it cautiously, and was not very amused when they spontaneously combusted into a column of ash and hellfire.

At least he wouldn't have to explain what had just happened to the mortals.

-o-

Despite getting off on a rocky start, Percy was looking forward to an easy day.

Death had given him a standard elimination mission to kill off the horde of bandits —there were so many that Percy was convinced they must be breeding like rabbits in there— currently terrorizing the city of Helios. So far, it had gone off without a hitch, and Percy had wade through their numbers, cutting them down like sheep to the slaughter.

Indeed, his day had been so easy that Percy was just waiting for something to go wrong.

Percy spun a knife around his finger, slamming the end down on the last rotation. With a smooth motion faster than most see, the knife broke the sound barrier with a sharp crack, resonating through the forest like a thunderclap.

The target didn't even see it coming. It cut through his neck and stuck into the bark of an old tree, the butt end quivering with unexpended force. He could feel the man's life force diminishing, wailing as it was torn away.

The back of his neck prickled.

Following the instincts screaming at him, he twisted his arm back in an evasion and cocked his head to one side sharply, letting the blow whistle harmlessly past his ear. He felt his arm knock aside someone else's, which had been plunging for the small of his back, twisting at the last second to sweep his leg under his attacker. Caught off balance, the man stumbled.

A flash of metal; the deed was done.

Someone behind him screamed a war cry.

"Fool," Percy muttered. With a deceptively swift turn, he evaded the lunge, appearing again behind the man in his blind spot.

But he wasn't prepared for blow from behind. Instinctively, his body moved on its own, not enough to completely dodge the sword, but Percy got away with just a flesh wound instead of a mortal blow. Nevertheless, it _hurt_, stinging when he prodded it gingerly, one hand holding his side.

"Ha!" his attacker shouted in triumph. "You're wounded. I can finish you off on my own. Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

_Great. Two of them. More idiots for me to deal with._

Percy released his scythe from its dormant form, feeling the metal hum in anger under his touch. The two faltered slightly. "Not so high and mighty now, are we?" Percy mocked back, using their words against them. It did what he intended, driving them into a frenzied rage.

They didn't even have time to blink before Percy was behind them, impaling them both and successfully ending their miserable lives.

Percy could hear his breath rasping in his throat, silently cursing the weakness that had not fully managed to leave from his three-year stay in Tartarus. It was a sore spot with him, and one he planned on improving. But for now, he had more important matters to attend to.

He had just begun to move out of the clearing in pursuit of the leader when he heard a low moan.

Percy froze, his eyes flashing in the direction of the voice. He reached down idly, yanking the knife out of the bandit's back mercilessly, ignoring the trickle of blood that oozed down from the puncture wound.

It was coming from the copse of bushes to his left. Percy approached warily, his feet barely making a noise as he ghosted towards his target with a deathly grace.

He supposed he could use the shadows to allow him to approach unseen, but his endurance wasn't exactly as it should be. Already, Percy could feel the drain on his energy from the multitude he had expended in the elimination of the bandit camps. While they weren't exactly skilled fighters —_street brawlers,_ the lot of them— there were just so _many_ that even Percy was exhausted by the end.

And the fact that he was covered head to toe in blood didn't help matters.

Cautiously parting the branches and leaves, Percy tensed, getting ready to fight if he was walking into a trap.

The first thing he saw was the white hair caked with dried mud, turning it a murky brown. The boy's skin was pale, too pale to be healthy. He looked about the same age as Percy, maybe even a little bit younger. The muddy trench and broken branches, half washed away by rain, suggested that someone had dragged him into the bushes and never returned.

Upon first glance, Percy thought he was dead. But he could feel a soul still attached to his body, still struggling to maintain hold to the mortal world.

He crouched down, examining the ruby hilt embedded in the figure's stomach. The wound was crusted with dried blood, looking to be about a week old. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Percy attempted to extricate the knife, constantly watching for any fluctuations in his soul that could prove to be fatal. But he barely twitched as the champion of Death pulled the blade through as gently as he could, noting the green tint of the metal that signified poison. Whoever had tried to kill this boy didn't want to take any chances. Inexplicable feelings of protectiveness and bitter resentment rose up in his chest.

When he pulled one of the boy's eyelids up to check the pupil, he was greeted with a vivid blue.

_"—you have nice eyes, Aether. They remind me of a cloudless sea."_

And when the kid moaned his name, Percy knew that suddenly, his day had gotten a lot more complicated.

-o-

_**Aether**_

On hindsight, Aether could admit that maybe, just _maybe_, his plan hadn't been that great after all. The execution certainly left many things to be desired. He knew that Nyx would have had his head if she'd found out how stupid his idea was (though, it certainly wasn't the worst he'd ever done), and he didn't even want to _think_ about what Percy —though that never had been his name, had it?— would say, if he was still with them. Probably something scathing and sharp, but ultimately, he would be the one to drag Aether's sorry ass back to camp and heal up the worse of the wounds.

Aether bit his lip as a wave of pain crashed into his heart. He supposed that _that_ particular wound would never heal properly, and some part of him didn't want it to. It felt wrong, to forget, to let the hurt dwindle away.

So _maybe_ jumping into the front lines of the battle because he thought he saw his brother wasn't the greatest idea. But his body moved on its own, and it wasn't his fault. At all. Really.

...okay, well maybe it was, just a bit. It was stupid of him, and now he was paying the price, half buried under the dead bodies and slowly bleeding to death, alone and hurt and cold. The stench of battlefields filled his nose until it was the only thing he could feel, the oppression drowning him until all he could see was darkness.

* * *

><p><em>Death hesitated.<em>

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes.<p>

For a moment, everything was ablur; dark, chaotic swirls engulfed everything, consuming him in its nothingness. He lashed out blindly, feeling panic erupt in his throat, wiping the last bit of restraint from his body.

And then he could hear the pad of approaching footsteps, could feel the indent as someone unknown knelt by his prone body. Hands —thin, calloused hands— twisted around his arm, the other resting on his forehead. He could feel the coldness of those fingers seeping into his skin.

His breath came in harsh gasps, wheezing pathetically as he fought to get away, the primal fears of the unknown choking him, forcing their icy fingers down his throat. But the unknown stranger was too strong for him to handle in this weakened state and pushed him firmly back down, ridged stones pressing painfully against his back.

A hand stroked the hair back from his forehead, smoothing it down. He spoke, voice soothing and quiet, instilling peace into his racing heartbeat. _"It's all right, Aether. It's okay. I'm here. Nothing can get you now."_

Was that his name? Aether? It didn't sound right.

"I... it... you..."

The voice cursed, managing to sound charismatic even as it was spitting out vulgarities that would make a sailor blush. _"You're burning up,"_ he muttered, draping something slick and cold against his forehead. Within seconds, the cloth was warmed over.

"Hot..." Aether whimpered, feeling like his blood was attempting to boil him alive. He twisted in the blankets, attempting in vain to free himself.

_"I know,"_ the voice murmured quietly, an edge of steel burning in its words. His hand tightened on Aether's forearm, the cold radiating from his body seeping into his exposed skin. _"You took poison... silly little brother. I won't always be there to save you."_

Only one person had ever called him that.

In his fever deluded state, he could only peer at the dark figure silhouetted against the sunlight. The voice was kneeling, and he could catch the hard glint of a weapon strapped over his back. But there was no mistaking the voice, no mistaking the amused yet concerned tone.

"Per...cy?" he mumbled, tasting the groggy disbelief of his words. The voice smiled a bit, a tiny inclination of its lips, but did not answer. His hands eased Aether's head back gently, caressing the locks of hair that drooped over his distant eyes.

_"I am who you wish me to be,"_ he said softly. _"But whoever I was before, now I am to be your savior."_

Percy's hands closed around something that Aether hadn't noticed before. Sunlight glared off a glass vial, containing a silvery mist that writhed and twisted within its containment.

His lips formed a question, but no sound came out except for a dry croak. Percy's mouth quirked slightly. _"Hush, little one. It will be over soon."_

He tipped the contents into Aether's mouth.

It tasted sour, bitter, and cold at the same time, and he didn't want to swallow. But cold fingers stroked his throat, forcing him to let his muscles go.

And then the whole world was burning, everything going up in white flame that throttled every part of him in ways he didn't know existed. It ate away at his skin, his veins, setting his nerves on fire until he was sure he'd been reduced to a pile of ash on the floor.

He could hear someone screaming; a high, keen note. It went on and on and on, and only when his lungs were torn to shreds and blood ran down his throat did he realize that it was his.

_"Think before you act next time, little brother."_ Percy's voice was becoming fainter, fading away until almost everything was gone. Aether reached out in panic, a silent plead in his terrified eyes.

Don't go...

_"—I would hate to see you again."_

The world exploded into light.

-o-

_He was burning and burning and no one was there where was Percy what's going on..._

"My Lord, you're safe now, it's going to be okay."

_But it wasn't the voice he wanted where had it gone he needed answers_

He collapsed into darkness.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Nyx<strong>_

Dull impressions pulled on Nyx's conscience, trying to draw her out of the darkness. She struggled to get up, a hoarse scream tearing out of her when someone yanked the arrow out of her chest with a vicious abandon.

A deathly cold hand clenched over her mouth, smothering the last agonized sounds. Nyx fell to the ground, her lips raw and bloody as her teeth sunk into the soft skin.

Another icy hand pressed itself to Nyx's sluggishly bleeding wound; it felt as though someone had turned her veins to ice. It wasn't painful, only numb, siphoning the heat out of her damaged nerves. She blinked several times, trying to clear the darkness out of her eyes to see who it was that had taken her from Death's doorstep.

The blurs focused until he could see well enough to recognize him. The green stood out, too beautiful in contrast to the bloodspattered battleground. Nyx screwed her eyes halfway shut, wincing as the harsh light seared into her pupils.

A cloaked young man kneeled by her body, his hands stained with her blood. A pale, angular face looked down at her from under midnight black hair, emerald crimson eyes narrowed in an unfathomably icy expression that seemed to chill her from the inside out.

"Percy ...?" She breathed in shock. She made to rise, only to fall backwards, coughing as her wounds thrust her down with a pained cry. Percy looked down upon her, lips thinning dangerously.

_"—you had even fooled me into believing that you've changed. But Order was right; once a demon, always a demon. You'll never be anything worth having!"_

"Your men will be arriving shortly. I am to keep you alive until then." Oh, even the _voice_ was the same. Cold, bitter, uncaring, but with a trace of concern tingeing his words, if you knew how to listen. A bittersweet smile curled her mouth.

"Can't fool me ... Percy ..." she choked out. "Where ... Aether was distraught, I ..."

Dark eyes flickered to meet her own. His words were cold, blunt, and to the point, like the needle threading through her wound by skilled fingers. "The _traitor_ died. Thousands of years ago."

"No ..." Nyx pressed on adamantly, gritting her teeth as a wave of nausea forced her to stop. "Not traitor... recognize you ... too hard to forget ..." A bandage was wrapped around her torso, Percy jerking the ends a little roughly. Nyx could feel his fingers shaking through the heavy cloth. Reaching out weakly, she latched onto her brother's sleeve desperately.

_"—don't come any closer, traitor—"_

Percy froze.

"Stay ... don't go ..." She didn't care if she was pleading. She _needed_ him to stay, needed this to be real and not another illusion. She didn't know if she could bear letting him slip through her fingers again.

_"—you were never even my brother. I don't know you... I hope you rot in hell!"_

Percy swallowed. For a moment his face flickered, and Nyx really thought she had finally gotten through to the headstrong general, something she was never able to do. But then the mask smoothed back over his face, that blank, expressionless slate once again wiped clean.

"I am not your brother," Percy spat, in a rare show of emotion. "You made that plenty clear the first time around."

Nyx reached out weakly, trying to form the words she could not say, but Percy tugged his arm out of reach with a vicious jerk. He took several deep breaths, allowing his eyes to close. When he spoke again, it was in his flat, neutral tones, the emotion forcefully absent.

"Guess I'll see you in hell."

Then she could hear footsteps clattering, too close for comfort. Percy's head came up, eyes sharp and alert, fixing on the entrance of the tent.

A soldier burst into Nyx's line of vision, kneeling down hurriedly.

"My lady," the soldier breathed, throwing his head over his shoulder to shout hoarsely for a medic. She squinted at the soldier, finally putting a name to those sad golden eyes and blonde hair.

Chronus, the once lieutenant of ASPECT before it was... _disbanded._ He had been under Percy's command. Startled, Nyx turned to look for her brother.

The tent was gone.

She was lying in a shallow stone depression, the icy winds whipping harshly over them. Gritty snow was starting to gather on the brim of the soldier's helmet, the filmy grains somehow finding a way into every nook and cranny.

She tried to ignore the dryness in her throat. It felt like she'd swallowed razor blades. "Wha... where is he?" Nyx demanded, scowling at the man's blank expression.

"Percy," she clarified. "He was standing... right... right there..."

The soldier stared at her in mild concern and some barely concealed sadness. "My lady... are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine!" she snarled, digging her fingers into the snow angrily. Ozone crackled. "Tell me where he is!"

"The... the traitor-" Chronus' face twisted at those words, and he choked them out like they burned his tongue. "He... was killed in the Battle of Souls, millenia ago."

Nyx seized upon the only point she could make sense of desperately. "But... no body was found."

"My lady... there was an explosion. Several explosions. There wouldn't have been a... a body to recover."

"But he did not die," Nyx insisted. "He's _right there. _Or... he was. He healed me."

The soldier regarded her cautiously, and Nyx felt a prickle of annoyance at the man's disbelief. "I'm not insane. I really did see him."

"Of course... he did..." Chronus restated, trying for a calm and soothing tone. He probably thought that he had a madman on his hands, and a dangerous one at that.

A puff of snow and wind announced the arrival of the medic, and when Nyx looked up, she couldn't help but compare Percy's quiet efficiency and the medic's bumbled boasting. The stark white of his clothing hurt her eyes, and she pushed him away roughly.

Chronus started, but did not try to stop her. He probably recognized that stubborn expression, having seen it on Percy so many times, knowing that nothing he did would change her mind.

"... where's Aether?" Nyx struggled to her feet, using Chronus as a crutch, leaning on him heavily. "I... dragged him... stabbed... injured..."

The perplexity on the medic's face was enough of an answer. Nyx relaxed, the smell of ozone fading from the air. "We have, but there seems nothing wrong with him except for heavy exhaustion. We can confirm that there was poison on the blade, but it has been neutralized. I suppose he was just really, really lucky."

Nyx bit down the retort of 'because Percy saved him,' knowing that the medic would not understand half as well as Chronus had, the latter having bled with him, fought with him, hurt with him. There was just something about risking your life day after day that forged unbreakable bonds between comrades. Civilians, constantly protected and assured of their own safety, would never understand.

Instead, she only held out her arm and said, "Take me to Aether."

* * *

><p><em>Back at Camp Half Blood, they burned the shrouds. <em>

* * *

><p>Percy threw himself into the shadows, wincing as the darkness seemed to respond to their master's distress, lashing out and obliterating anything in its path.<p>

The familiar nauseous pull of shadow travel jerked him out of existence, and Percy let himself go. He really didn't care where he ended up, so long as it was far away from this place as possible. Maybe running from his troubles wasn't the best solution, but Percy had stopped caring.

The memories dragged him under before he could push them back.

_Percy took a step forward hesitantly, but almost immediately, Nyx moved backwards in disgust. "Don't come any closer,_ traitor,"_ she hissed. Her voice was low and hoarse, but Percy could distinguish every word as it lashed down at him. "Don't come near me ever again!"_

_The accusation stung more than it should have. _

_"Nyx, let me_ explain-"

_"Liar," her face was a rictus of disgust and hatred. Memory-Percy flinched back from her anger, as though it stung on his fingertips and burned deeply. "You were never even my brother. I don't know you... I hope you rot in hell!"_

_The dull pain in his chest reared its head, and he resisted the urge to claw at his heart. An expression of pure anguish crossed Percy's face, making him drop his head._

_"If that's how you feel..." his voice was still low, and for once, his words were raw and unguarded. Memory-Percy's eyes were downcast, unfocused and unblinking._

_"Oh, I do," Nyx spat out the words like they left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I would kill you right here, but I won't lower myself to your level. You had even fooled me into believing that you've changed. But Order was right; once a demon, always a demon. You'll never be anything worth having!"_

_Percy knew he couldn't delude himself any longer; she truly and wholly hated him. It didn't matter that he hadn't killed Chaos —the world had turned his last friend against him, leaving him alone once again. __And for one of the last times in his life, he felt his heart breaking into tiny shards that pierced through his very soul. He could almost see every crystalline piece, edged with a hurting blue that flickered and died with every word that passed Nyx's lips. _

_Memory-Percy's voice no longer shook. He felt nothing, nothing at all. "...then you'll never see me again."_

_He didn't wait for her response._

Percy's hand balled into a fist, the left shaking uncontrollably —it had been that way ever since the minor gods injected him with a toxic substance. He ignored the nails that dug viciously into his palm and the blood that beaded up from the shallow graze.

In that moment, he had become Erebus, watching helplessly as Despair wormed her fingers around him, pulling him ever closer to insanity. It was a tightrope he was walking; one small push would send him over the brink.

Seeing Aether and Nyx again had invoked these feelings. He didn't know why being called a traitor always caused such a dark anger in his gut. Perhaps it was his fatal flaw re-emerging; he couldn't betray someone he cared about to save his life. Something about betrayal twisted his insides into a hard knot, making him cold and hard to any shows of violence.

Scowling again —it seemed to be a permanent expression as of late— he got to his feet, resolutely banishing the memory for later. This was no time to have a mental breakdown, and if he was frank with himself, he never wanted to see it again.

Maybe Death had a task for him to do, something to keep him from being still, to keep the silence from creeping up on him again.

-o-

Percy carelessly flicked the blood off of the scythe's blade. For a long and heavy weapon, it was perfectly balanced and seemed to flow like an extension of his arm. He marvelled at how frighteningly easy it was. A weapon flung, a sickening thud. And then it was all over.

The death was too quick and merciful, but Percy felt pity for the poor spectators that were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, at least it helped to take the edge off of the anger he'd had no place to vent for the past few days.

Wiping off his hands with the edge of his cloak, Percy knelt next to the now headless body.

"You," he said apathetically, pointing at one of the cowering civilians. Said boy trembled to his boots from being addressed by someone that could easily end his existence with the snap of a finger.

"M-Me, sir?" he stammered out.

Not for the first time, Percy thanked Death in his head for letting him access Erebus' memories on the language. It was like a little mental dictionary. Even with it, he was barely able to decipher the boy's stutters.

"Yes." Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Fetch the head for me, will you?"

Faced with such a grisly task, the boy balked. But seeing doing what Percy told him to the lesser of two evils, he haltingly made his way to the blood streaked head, the face still contorted with fear and agony. Some of the civilians looked like they would be sick. Percy felt a dark satisfaction burn in his gut, a twisted kind of pride. The bastard got what was coming for him.

Carelessly gripping the head by its matted hair, he dismissed the boy, who bolted with his tail between his legs.

The others looked at Percy with a variety of different emotions. Some with fear and apprehension, in the same way that a deer balks from a tiger that hides in the bushes. Others looked at him with hero worship. Of the two, he could say for certain that the latter freaked him out more. Hero, he was not. One day, he might just snap from everything he'd been put through and do a Kronos on everybody. Maybe then, not even Death could stop him.

But that was arrogant thinking.

Under other circumstances, this would have amused Percy, but he had a job to do, and it was no time to get distracted.

He lifted the man's severed head, forcing the half lidded, glassy eyes to open, locking them with his. A connection formed; warmth being sucked in, leaving all of the spectators frozen to the bone and reliving their worst nightmares come to life. Over the screams and shrieks of their own mind, they distantly heard Percy speak again. His eyelids were drawn low over tempest colored eyes, giving him a dreaming, waiting look.

"You cannot escape Death," he murmured. Something about his stillness made him feel even more dangerous. It contrasted with that merciless avenger they had seen, the one who killed without a flicker of remorse.

A thin mist seeped from the man's pores, trickling from of his orifices. It circled his prone form, cold and clinging. The temperature dropped in a matter of minutes, and they could see their breaths fogging into the air.

Percy thrust his hand into the center of the mist, his entire arm coated with black hellfire.

"Awake," he intoned.

The mist started to gather around his fist, flickering occasionally and humming with supernatural energy. It clung together, slowly forming a pair of legs, a torso, shaking arms, and a fearful face. Percy's hand was positioned over the place where the apparition's heart would be, had it still been alive.

A thin thread of energy bridged the ghost's form and the prone body. It was beautiful in the beginning, sparkling with rainbow colors and a light innocence. But towards the end, the strand was blackened and shrivelled, contorting within itself grotesquely.

Percy's voice was cold, a trace of anger coloring his words. He leaned forward, a brief flare of hellfire burning away at the soul's form, making it cry out in pain. "Do you know why you are here? Answer me."

"I-I..."

"No?" Percy's anger flared again, this time bringing the spectators to their knees, gasping for breath under the pressure. "Let me enlighten you."

Raising a flame covered hand, he touched the soul's forehead.

The result was immediate.

It dropped to its knees, a silent scream of agony contorting its features. The soul ripped at its own face with its hands, its back arched from the pain.

A black light burned from its eyes, replacing those glassy orbs with hellfire. It dripped down from its eye sockets, starting to crack the face with an unearthly light.

"Do you feel it?" Percy hissed, relishing in that look of pure, unadulterated fear. "Do you feel the pain? The suffering you put others through? Do you repent? But it's too late now. Now, I will exact their revenge upon you. I will make you pay."

In an ignored part of his mind, he realized that he could see his reflection reflecting from the soul's writhing form. There was something wrong with his _eyes..._

"There are two sides to Death," Percy said, his hand resting on the hilt of his scythe. His eyes glinted unnaturally in the pale light. "Justice and Mercy. Justice to the damned, and mercy to the wronged. Now I wonder... which shall I give to you?"

The man cowered, whimpering in fear as his face cracked further, flaking away to reveal black, chaotic fire. He curled into a ball, as though that would save him from Death's wrath. "Please..._ no..."_

Percy smirked. His hand clenched on the scythe's handle.

"...goodbye."

* * *

><p><em>"They fear what they do not understand."<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Aether<strong>_

The next time he awoke, he was lucid.

"Aether? Are you alright?"

The voice swam, painfully loud to his hyper-sensitive ears. He groaned something unintelligible in response, the words going unsaid. He threw an aching arm over his face, turning away from the light streaming in from the open window.

"Bright..."

There was a rasping noise, and then the light was cut off abruptly.

"Try it now," Nyx commanded gently. "I've closed the blinds."

Aether let his arm drop, squinting as his blue eyes readjusted to the darkness. The blurs focused—

He should have expected the crash of disappointment that came with recognition. It was all a _dream..._

Nyx sat in a chair by his bedside, tucking her long skirt under her legs. It struck Aether how tired she looked, as though she'd aged a thousand years in a few days. The dark bags under her eyes indicated a lack of sleep, no doubt his doing. A surge of guilt knotted his stomach.

Aether's hand closed around a cold glass of water, and Nyx helped him raise it to his lips. The coolness ran down his throat, relieving the parched dryness in his mouth. He gulped it down gratefully.

"Thank you for healing me," he said to Nyx, lowering the glass and letting his arms fall back into his lap. But her eyes only creased, a line of tension visible on her forehead.

"I didn't," she admitted. "Nothing I did worked. I was never much of a healer. That was more of..."

She trailed off, but both of them knew what she was going to say.

"Anyways." She worried her lip between her teeth, as she did when extremely excited or extremely nervous. "I dragged you into the bushes and tried to get help, but someone got me before I could. Don't worry-" she added hastily, seeing Aether's expression turn into one of anger and concern. "-I'm perfectly okay now. But when I woke up, you were stabilized and the doctors said that nothing else was wrong with you."

Aether frowned, feeling the muscles in his face pull down. "That's odd," he mused. "I feel better than I had before. Almost like a piece of me that was missing had returned."

"I know," Nyx agreed, twisting her hands in her lap. "I feel the same. It's odd, isn't it? Maybe it's true, what they say about near encounters with death."

"You look like you haven't slept in ages," he chided gently. "I'm sorry it was so hard on you."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Of course I'll worry. You're my little brother."

They shared a tiny smile. "And then what happened?"

Nyx stilled, the smile dropping. "I... Order came to visit. He was concerned, you know, but there's a shortage of soldiers and he said that he doesn't trust anyone else with this but us. I don't understand it much myself. He was being very secretive."

Aether dug his fingernails into a handful of blankets, a scowl making its way across his features. "What... did he say?"

Nyx bit her lip again. "I'm not exactly sure. It seems like an assassination mission of some sort; I guess it would be the one who killed Taren."

"I never liked him. Good riddance," Aether sneered.

The Primordial of Night shrugged, amusement evident on her face. "I can't say I disagree, but he's been causing trouble for Order, so he needs to be eliminated."

Aether leaned back with a small sigh. "I suppose," he relented. "Even though I would've hugged him for killing Taren. Did you get the target's name?"

"Yes, I have." Nyx replied, but her visage was troubled, a shadow of doubt crossing her face for a fraction of a second. "And, well... you won't like this." Her eyes flicked upwards, as though to gauge Aether's reaction. Said Primordial forced himself to open his hand and release his death grip on his blankets. He smoothed down the ridged sheets, keeping his eyes fixed on his task.

Nyx wet her lips, closing her eyes. "Do you remember Percy's ASPECT codename? Our target... his name is Thanatos."

* * *

><p>Percy should have expected this.<p>

After all, he _was_ killing off Order's minions one by one, no doubt setting back his plans quite drastically, and as the ruler of this dimension, he _would_ have quite a few assassins to kill off anyone who stirred trouble.

But Order forgot to take two things into consideration.

One: Percy wasn't just your everyday troublemaker. Challenging him would be like signing your own death warrant and condemning your soul to the pits of Punishments.

And two: Death did _not_ like people messing with her champion. At all.

So, with the record number of assassins being fifteen, Order was just _begging_ to die.

Percy sighed, crossing his arms and leaning heavily back against a tree trunk. Looking up, he could see the crescent moon shining through the maze of bare branches swaying in the night sky.

It was a peaceful night, but Percy's premonition told him that it would be anything but.

Lifting his head, he breathed in deeply, inhaling the faint scent of burning wood. He was downwind, giving him a slight advantage over whoever was trying to flush him out of the forest. Already, Percy could make out the orange glimmers flickering behind fleeing animals, the thundering of hooves and paws drowning out everything else. A pillar of black smoke reached for the heavens, writhing in torrents over the canopy of burning leaves, illuminating the night sky with a dark light.

Percy ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as it came away sooty.

Was it too much to ask for _one_ night without people trying to kill him?

* * *

><p>"You think we got him?" Aether muttered, stifling the still smoldering torch under his foot. A thin trickle of smoke sifted off of the blackened surface.<p>

Nyx concentrated, the darkness around her flaring briefly. Then she frowned, her brow furrowing in displeasure. "I can't feel him. It's like he's cloaked from the darkness, but I'm not sure how that's even possible. I'm assuming that we didn't, though—it would've been far too easy."

Aether grumbled under his breath, shifting from foot to foot. He'd never been accustomed to the darkness, like Nyx and... Nyx did.

"Do you see anything?" he muttered to Nyx, squinting and trying to allow more light to enter his eyes. That was the problem with Nyx's induced nights—he was pretty much fighting blind.

Aether could feel the swish of air as Nyx shook her head slightly. The glow of her eyes —like a cat's— was the only thing he could see in the darkness; two dark blue sapphires.

"I can see why Order sent us," she whispered back, her lips grazing his ear. Aether shivered. He hadn't even felt her move. "He's _good."_

"Maybe we got his location wrong?" Aether said doubtfully, still cursing his inability to see. He stepped on a half burned branch, the crack resonating so loud Aether was sure that anyone within a twenty-mile radius could hear him stomping around like an elephant.

Nyx's hand shot out and latched on to the back of his shirt collar before he could overbalance. He winced.

"Quiet," she hissed. "He might've heard us."

Aether rubbed his neck and scowled, not for the first time envying Nyx's catlike grace. She may as well be a ghost by the way she moved so soundlessly.

There was another muffled crack. Nyx whirled around, glaring, her hand snaking around Aether's arm. "Watch where you step," she muttered in annoyance.

"It wasn't me this time!" he whispered, as loud as he dared, indignantly gesturing with his other hand to prove his point. "I swear!"

And then a voice spoke from behind them, amusement clear in his tone.

"You know, it's not good to talk about people behind their back."

Nyx dropped her grip around Aether and drew her spear in one smooth motion, spinning back to face the speaker. Aether followed her example, albeit clumsier, fumbling with the hilt of his heavy sword in the darkness. The metal hummed reassuringly under his touch.

It took a few moments for Aether to see the figure perched on a burning tree branch, his feet propped back as he leaned lazily against the tree's trunk. The fire roared around him in an ever growing crescendo, but he seemed unaffected by the blaze attempting to eat him alive.

Aether couldn't help but feel shocked. "He's immune to fire!"

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Nyx hissed back, her eyes narrowing at the figure as he chuckled slowly, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture. "You are Thanatos?"

"_Thank you_ for _stating_ the _obvious,"_ Thanatos echoed, and although Aether couldn't see his face, he was sure he was grinning.

"You seem awfully calm for someone who's about to die," he said, a little bit wistfully, because if they weren't enemies, they may have been friends once upon a time. He had a carefree but cautious demeanor, a combination that was difficult to achieve.

Thanatos cocked his head to the side, the humor draining from his voice. His eyes glowed with unmasked power, the kind that could tear through mountains and level seas. It was brilliant, but slightly unhinged and mad.

"Who said I would?" he said quietly, his true self cutting through the facade of normalcy he put on. The air around him rippled—

"Where did he go?" he directed the question to Nyx, who had a dismayed expression on his face.

"—here," Thanatos murmured, his breath tickling Aether's ear. His heart jolted; he swung the sword to cleave Thanatos in two, but was met with only open air.

"You cannot catch what does not exist," his voice continued, the sounds echoing like sonar until Aether could not distinguish where it came from. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And then his sword was ripped from his grasp, sending him stumbling at the sheer strength of the force. Five meters away, Thanatos stood, tossing the weapon from hand to hand with a bored expression.

"Too easy," he said, flicking his gaze down at the words inscribed on the silver of the blade. Something in his expression changed.

Thanatos froze, his mouth tightening in brief surprise. "You are... _Aether..."_ he murmured softly, "are you not? As I recall, you had been wounded quite severely a few days ago. How are you up and fighting?"

"None of your business," Aether retorted, hoping that Thanatos wouldn't see through his bluff. The bandages wrapped around his chest suddenly seemed to be too tight.

"And that would make you Nyx, daughter of Chaos, niece to Order." Thanatos locked his timeless eyes onto the girl to his right, who stiffened. "I suppose I should give you a warning; Order is not what he seems. He will do anything for power, including murdering his own brother."

"Have we met? You seem familiar," she said tightly. Her iron tight control of her emotions clamped down on the rage bubbling in her stomach.

"Perhaps." Thanatos tore his gaze away, fixing his attention onto the horizon, where the sun was starting to come up, flaring Nyx's night away. They were running out of time.

"Perhaps we _have,"_ Thanatos repeated, his eyes flicked back to Aether. "That is up to you to decide."

Nyx's spear crackled with electricity, the sharp static drawing Thanatos' surprised attention. Nyx glared back at him, defiant, but seemed as stunned as he was.

"Nyx?" Aether muttered, eyeing the flickering weapon carefully. "When did you learn to do _that?"_

"Just now," she said, her voice carefully controlled to not convey her shock. "And you're the one talking... what is that at your _feet?"_

Aether stumbled over his legs, landing with a hard crash, staring uncomprehendingly at the pile of bones that had erupted from nowhere. Tiny pieces broke through the surface of the soil, knitting together to form the skeleton of a mouse.

"Wh–what's going on?" he stammered. Thanatos seemed to be carefully considering them, the shadows amassing his face making it unreadable.

"With great power—" he suddenly said in a different language, one that rolled off his tongue easier. Oddly enough, Aether could understand him perfectly, and he blurted out the rest of the sentence without speaking.

"—comes great need to take a nap."

It seemed the wrong thing to say. Thanatos' eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, a hand cradling his head.

"How is this even possible?" he whispered. He was speaking faster in that odd language of his, and Aether was having trouble keeping up.

Seizing his momentary distraction, Nyx snarled something incomprehensible before charging forward and slashing at him with her spear. Aether's eyes widened, and his cry for her to stop stuck in his throat.

But Thanatos didn't look up, catching the weapon slashing towards him with a bare hand, seemingly oblivious to the electricity that flowed through his veins as the spear discharged. The metal crumpled under his fingertips, leaving five indents against the spear's tip.

Then his head jerked upwards, a stormy, restless green shifting up to meet electric blue.

"Thalia," he whispered reverently. Nyx frowned, momentarily taken off guard by both his ability to deflect her weapon without being hurt and by the strange word that was oddly familiar.

"What?"

A hysterical laugh bubbled on his throat. His eyes were distant, and Aether got the impression that he wasn't really seeing them.

"Death told me you were gone, both of you," he said, ever faster, and neither of them could comprehend the flow of words that left his mouth. "She said you were poisoned, but now you're here, and this shouldn't be possible, why is this happening to me..."

Nyx bit her lip again, her eyebrows drawing low over her eyes, casting them into shadow. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to attack him. "Thanatos..."

Thanatos cut off abruptly, his hand shifting up to a black gem tied around his neck as though it burned into his skin. Even as Aether watched him grimace, he found that hard to believe. If he could deflect Nyx's spear —made from some of the strongest metals in this dimension— and _crush_ it, he highly doubted that a mere burn could affect him.

The merest whisps of a long forgotten memory tingled in his brain, but it was long gone before Aether could remember what it was.

"Death is calling," Thanatos said, his stance suddenly shifting to a more relaxed, calm position. "I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short."

Nyx growled, baring her teeth. "I'm not seeing Death anytime soon."

Thanatos seemed mildly surprised, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half smile. "Of course not. I meant that she was calling for _me_."

That took her aback. Death? She didn't exist, or not as an immortal that could summon people to her, anyways. Perhaps it was a codename for a master of his.

Nyx shook off her thoughts, mentally berating herself for letting her control slip in the middle of a battle. Though it wasn't much of one, she would admit. It had mostly been a verbal spar.

She turned sharply at Aether's surprised yelp. Their eyes met—

He collapsed like a puppet with strings cut, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Nyx screamed his name.

_"Aether!"_

"Don't worry," Thanatos' voice was suddenly behind her. His fingers pushed down on her neck before she could react. A tingle ran through her body, and suddenly she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the world was fading before her eyes—

He caught her before she could tumble face first into the ground. Thanatos' arms snaked around her shoulders, supporting her as he set her down gently. His hand brushed tenderly against her forehead, wiping away the small trickle of blood that came from above her hairline.

"—you'll be seeing me again."

* * *

><p>"A second chance at life... let them <em>remember."<em>


	10. Gebo (Sacrifice)

**Author's Lamentations —** Ah, woe is me moment. I've been knocked overboard with the sheer masses of homework burying me alive. I got this out as soon as I could, but am unsure when I can find the time to post another chapter. Soon, I am hoping.

On the bright side, I won the award for best strings player in my city, which was quite humbling and shocking at the same time. So, with more exams and competitions coming forth, I only pray I survive intact.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>"...goodbye, Aether."<em>

**Chapter V**  
><strong><em>Gebo<br>_**_X _

_Rune for sacrifice, balance, honor._

* * *

><p>It happened at dawn, just as the sun was starting to melt into the velveteen blue sky, fading away the night to expose the new day.<p>

Percy —sprawled over a tree branch, one leg hanging off and swinging unconsciously with the wind— was jerked awake when his scythe-necklace heated up to almost unbearable proportions. Flailing for a second, managing to regain his bearings before he plummeted back to earth, Percy grabbed it one hand, wincing as it burned through his glove and began to eat through his skin.

He had fallen asleep yesterday from sheer exhaustion, and getting a grand total of two hours of sleep, snatched between all the assassination attempts on his life and his hunting new targets (read: generally pissing Order off a great deal), it was safe to say that Percy was dead on his feet.

Especially with finding out Nyx and Aether —his estranged siblings who no doubt hated his guts with a passion —really weren't themselves at all, it was a wonder Percy didn't topple over halfway through their fight. That would have been embarrassing, and an incredibly stupid way to get captured.

But to think... Aether as Nico, and Thalia as Nyx? It was almost as crazy as him being Erebus.

The crystal in his hand flared again, reminding Percy of the predicament he was supposed to be handling.

Usually, when Death called for him, it would warm over and the inside of the crystal would fog up. This time, it was as though she had forgone all the necessary precautions —sometimes, Death seemed to forget that humans were _fragile—_ and poured all of her power into the summons, something Percy knew would obliterate the other end with distress signals.

Was she in trouble?

The idea was ludicrous; how could _Death_ be in _trouble?_

"Okay, Death, just take me wherever," he said aloud, frowning a little when nothing happened.

The thought simply didn't make sense, but before Percy had any more time to think, there was a tugging in his gut and before he could recalibrate himself, he was sucked into a wormhole.

Colors—blinding colors, molten colors seared themselves into Percy's eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut, turning off the last of his working senses. His arms and legs flailed around helplessly, like a rag doll caught in a maelström, unable to do anything but hope the calamity wouldn't kill him.

As fast as it had started, it was over.

Shakily getting to his feet, Percy noticed that wherever the wormhole had spit him out, the landscape was vastly different. He had fallen asleep in a glen of forests, the soft humming of the birds lulling him to sleep.

Here, it was harsh, barren, and cold.

Dark mountains, superimposed over the horizon, surrounded Percy in a vast circle. The whole world was blackened, as the ragged peaks of stone blocked out the sun, locking out any semblance of warmth or life.

How did he end up in the mountains, and such a desolate one at that?

"Never doing that again," he muttered, peeling himself from the ground. Impossibly, he had found a new form of travel he hated more than shadow travel. "Wormhole" was now in his number one spot.

Percy's footsteps were muffled by the mud squelching underneath his boots, the brown dirt somehow working its way into every possible surface. He swiped the back of his hand over his cheek, attempting to wipe off a smear of mud, only serving to spread it everywhere else. Scowling, he gave up, letting his hand drop back to his side.

"Death!" Percy shouted into the rain, rivulets of water dripping from the corners of his downcast mouth. "You're the one who summoned me here, so come out already!"

There was no answer except for his own voice ringing back, echoing over the wasteland.

Percy growled in frustration, slamming his open palms into a dark brown stone from where it jutted out of the earth. The top crumbled under the force, and Percy was about to turn away when a glimmer caught his eye. Hesitating, he brushed away the remnants of the rubble, ignoring the piece that sliced into his hand, making a few drops of blood ooze from the scrape and onto the crystal in the heart of the rock.

His fingers closed around a faintly glowing emerald, the crystal warm underneath his touch. Under his tunic, the scythe-crystal started to burn in tangent with the one still gripped in his hand. A wave of familiar power rolled over his body, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he recognized it as his own.

Percy touched the end of his scythe-crystal, noting the ragged edges that indicated that some part of it was missing. Originally, he had thought it was just meant to be like that. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Carefully, as though one false move would blow him sky high —for all he knew, maybe it _could—_ Percy fitted the two crystals together.

The two pieces began to glow with a soft white light, the scythe's gem seeping tendrils of black hellfire over the emerald, drawing it in like an octopus would pull in its prey with twisting tentacles.

And as soon as the two crystals touched, several things happened at once.

The first was the sharp crack that signaled something being forcibly smashed. Percy spun around, intent on defending himself from an unknown assailant, until he realized that it was coming out of the mountain face.

A rectangular hole caved in, revealing an open passageway that stank of age and mold and death.

The second was the banal melody that had begun to play, filling the air with its oppressive notes. Though at first it may seem rather bland, one comes to realize that there is something oddly sinister about the five notes repeating over and over in different keys. It was the same melody from when Percy had first gotten his scythe, and even after six months, it didn't fail to send shivers down his back.

But the third and last thing was the most prominent, and certainly the one that caught Percy's attention the most.

Black wings, each feather razor sharp, exploded from his back in a burst of wind. Percy stiffened in surprise, barely in time to stifle a yell of shock from passing his lips. Reeling back several paces, he regained his composure, drawing in a deep breath, only to splutter and choke when a feather attempted to make its way up his nose.

Gingerly, Percy pulled one of his extended wings forward, careful not to catch his fingers on the jagged edges. Even with no light in the sky, the feathers glowed with an obsidian fire, rippling with every little movement, flashing into a myriad of colors.

Percy opened his hand, letting the wing go. When opened to their full length, they spanned around fifteen feet. Despite the excess weight, it was surprisingly light, something Percy contributed to the porous bone structure.

He had seen these wings on Erebus in some of the memories he retained. They seemed to be very useful tools, allowing him to fly, to fight —the feathers were like an endless supply of knives— and would allow him to block most projectiles, so long as they weren't augmented.

An augmented weapon was a weapon that had been strengthened in a blood ritual. He didn't know exactly how it was made or why it worked. It could cut through almost anything, and Percy really didn't fancy having to put it to the test.

Turning back to the scythe, which had extended itself into its full form, Percy noticed how the engravings on the side were now filled with liquid green fire, one that ripped and pulsed. A single green emerald was the center of an intricate carving, entwining with the original black gemstone.

In its compacted necklace form, the crystal remained its obsidian black, but with green stippling up the side like trapped lightning. Percy tied the ends around his neck, letting the crystal's familiar weight drop from view.

Turning back to the hole that had drilled itself into the mountain's face, Percy scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. For a second, he almost thought he could see a figure draped in brown shawls, and even with her eyes closed, he could feel the malice and pure destructive force that rolled off of her.

In the next second, she was gone, and Percy wrote it off as a trick of the light.

A rumble echoed through the empty chasm, sounding like a moan of the earth. Certainly, with its gaping maw, the darkness didn't look particularly inviting.

But there was _something—something obsolete—that_ drew him closer, entranced, one foot in front of the other until he was standing right in front of the entrance, the cold tunnel draught blowing his hair back.

_It was raining, thick sheets of water pouring relentlessly from the heavens. Erebus grimaced as he nearly slipped for the nth time, the limp body dragged over his back in a fireman's hold threatening to send them both tumbling into the chasm. Deep, exhausted coughs wracked his insides, sending the rusty taste of blood flooding his mouth._

Blinking away the vision, Percy ran his hand along a smudge of ashen colored rock, marvelling at the pulsing feeling that filled his arm. Keeping one hand on the wall, he took a last breath and plunged in.

Darkness set in. Not the kind Percy could control, it consumed his eyes until he was forced to close them, relying only on his sense of touch. The sloping rock walls were oddly smooth, like they had somehow been polished. Instead of the temperature getting hotter, like it had in Mt. St. Helens, Percy could feel his breath misting over, the chill of the night flooding his senses.

At some parts of the tunnel, it was half collapsed from age, or like someone in a hurry had tried to bar entrance. It took Percy several minutes to scramble over the debris, for once wishing he had Grover's mountain goat legs.

_Erebus pushed himself forward, only half aware of the ragged breaths hitching in his chest. He gritted his teeth and continued on, his wings flaring out to catch the upward drafts. But he was tired... so tired..._

In a fraction of a second, the ground beneath Percy's feet disappeared. The wall continued, but the tunnel widened and the bottom dropped precariously into a cliff.

And then the wind ripped him aside, but instead of fear, there was an odd exhilaration in his blood. Any sane person would be screaming, but Percy had lost his sanity a long time ago.

Something in him seemed to click, a part of him that had just awoken.

He knew what to do.

Percy's wings trailed uselessly, cocooned by the wind and forced against his body. He angled them out carefully, all too painfully sure of the earth speeding closer. The draft caught the feathers, pushing him down even faster. The world became a blur, speeding faster and faster until he had to close his eyes before the wind ripped them out. Percy braced himself and unfolded the rest of his left wing from where it was pinned there by the wind.

His descent stopped suddenly, as fast as it had started. Percy sucked in a breath at the sudden feeling of vertigo, the dizziness that made the world rise and fall in great, lurching waves.

Craning his neck up, Percy could barely see the tiny ledge —maybe thousands of feel above him— jutting out from the side. Had he really fallen that far? It only took a few seconds.

Getting used to the sensation of swooping in tight, looping circles, he had the insane urge to shout "I am _superman!"_ and listen to his voice echo, but squashed it down before he could embarrass himself, even if there was no one around to witness it.

_Banking sharply before he could crash into the steep sides, Erebus used the last of his strength to pull one of his wings in, crashing into a small alcove, the body draped over his back flopping bonelessly. __Craning his head up, he stared wistfully at the spot of cerulean sky peeking out from amidst the rocky overhang. __Stumbling the last few steps, his ankle no doubt snapped clean through from the unintentional landing, Erebus knew this was as far as he could manage. _

For a few seconds, time seemed to become obsolete, and Percy was able to see an after-image of Erebus, flickering in and out like there was bad connection. His wings propelling him forward, Percy was drawn in by some kind of inexplicable force, coercing him to land on a small ledge jutting out from the side of the stone wall.

He landed clumsily, almost missing the ledge completely, the momentum throwing him forward for a second. Percy's hands flung forward, in front of his face to protect it from impact against the wall. He winced as his hand, still covered in scrapes, impacted against the hard stone, leaving a trail of blood streaking down the side.

The scuff marks on the wall Percy had previously overlooked flared out in a hailstorm of fire and light, his blood trickling into the runes, turning them from a glowing green to a crimson red, and then to a black that seemed to ripple with a thousand different shades of darkness.

_With shaking hands, his knife scratched thin, barely noticeable runes into the stone, each stroke leaving a glimmer of green behind. Algiz to protect against invaders, Fenu to power the rune chain, Uruz to preserve against time, and finally, his own runic signature, three diagonal slashes resembling three claw marks._

But as soon as Percy's fingers grazed the scratches, his left eye seared over, his vision rapidly declining into darkness. With a gasp, his hand came up to press against his face, his body doubling over in pain, one arm clutching his side. It was as though someone was trying to carve something with a red hot needle on his eye.

_Erebus wiped away the blood trickling from his eye. He had tried to adjust to the sudden darkness from the end, but he found himself constantly turning towards his blind side, his other eye trying to make up for the loss of information received. He hated feeling so... defenceless._

_"Now, that won't do," a female voice said behind him._

_Once Erebus got over the shock of someone getting the jump on him, something that had not happened for so long, his knife came up unsteadily to point at the speaker. His hand shook from exertion, the runes he had been carving pressed protectively against his back._

_"Show yourself!" he snarled, trying not to let his fear show._

_He was weak and tired and dead on his feet; his assailant only had to push him over and impale himself, and he'd have little strength to stop her._

_A hand curled around his chin, resisting his surprised jerk, forcing his eyes up to meet dark soulless ones. It took a moment for him to recognize her._

_"Death?" he muttered in surprise, letting his guard drop a little. "I have until sundown, don't I? I still have a few more hours..."_

_Her head tilted inquisitively to the side. "Can I not visit my champion?"_

_"I doubt that that is your only reason, especially with the carnage from the war seeking your attention."_

_Death bared her teeth in something that vaguely resembled a smile. "You always_ were_ my favorite. Yes, I have come for your," she gestured at Erebus' eye, "injury."_

_Erebus grimaced at the reminder. He started to move away, her icy grip on his face starting to make him uncomfortable. "I–"_

_"Hold still," she snapped, a rare surge of irritation dominant on her pale visage. Her nails dug into his skin, forcing his neck to remain vulnerably exposed as she examined his eye, careful with her movements._

_Erebus' entire body was tense. "Death, what–"_

_Something sharp scored down his mangled eye, causing blood to well up and coalesce down his face, forming crimson streaks. He barely held back a scream, adrenaline almost giving him enough strength to jerk out of Death's grasp._

_When she finally released him, he collapsed against the wall, breathing deeply. Death wiped her fingernails on the hem of her cloak, leaving a dark smear on the fabric._

_"What was... what was that?" he gasped, immediately slamming down his mental shields to block the pain, forcing his eyes to open._

_His right began to work again, blinking through the haze of red that encased his world, sending clear images of his surroundings to Erebus. The colors were almost blinding in intensity. He could see things he had never, even with his eagle-like vision, noticed before._

_But it was his left that made Erebus suck in a sharp breath._

_The world was dark, impossibly dark. He could see vague shapes –figures– that his right eye told him did not exist. Bemused, he turned his eyes to Death, only to see her entire figure encased in a glowing black aura, a pulsing fire fueled by fear and mayhem. Looking down at himself, while his right eye saw his bloodstained armor, his left took in the flickering emerald swirls wrapping themselves lovingly around his body._

Bringing a hand up to wipe away the blood that had spilled from his eye, he stumbled to a halt against the ledge. Blinking away the pain, he let his eyes flicker open, only to freeze in shock as his left projected only shadows and whispers of memories.

_Death looked pleased with herself, a faint hint of a smug smirk shadowing her face._

Forcing himself not to panic, Percy scanned his surroundings with only his left eye. Immediately, several things caught his attention, things he never would have noticed with his normal vision.

Tucking his wings tightly against his back, feeling its reassuring weight at his shoulders, Percy walked forward to examine the faintly glittering scratches in the stone. Frowning, Percy stooped down to pick a rock, letting it fall into his fingers before he whipped it at the seemingly empty air.

Immediately, the previously transparent barrier sizzled to life, dark tendrils of energy lashing around the "intruder," engulfing it in a maelstrom of hellfire. And as soon as it had come, the fire faded, leaving the ashes to flutter down in a fine dust.

Percy leaned back on his heels, impressed with Erebus' runic capabilities. From what he could remember, he had been running out of life and power, yet had managed to find a way to sustain this protection through millennia. It only made him even more curious to what lay on the other side.

He would need to find a way to deactivate the rune chain, and that was no small feat. He would need to find books on the subject, so further exploration would have to wait, however much it pained him to say so.

Still lost in thought, Percy didn't really pay attention to the journey back up the massive underground canyon and through the tunnel leading back to the surface world. His mind was bursting with the things he had learned.

Just who was behind that barrier?

Perhaps if he recategorized all of the things he had learned about Erebus, he would be able to solve this puzzle. Even though Percy wasn't curious by nature, the idea of not knowing something potentially important was starting to nag rather irritatingly at him.

_Okay. First things first. What did Erebus do?_

From what he knew through the visions and what people told him, Erebus had worked, at a young age, as a mercenary to support himself and his family. When his mother died, he was left with nothing, and turned to the darker path of revenge, something that reminded Percy sorely of Nico.

After killing the murderer, Chaos somehow showed up —Percy still wasn't sure how that had happened— and pretty much browbeat Erebus into accepting a position as a lieutenant in the ASPECT forces, the black operations division of the regular militia. They were responsible for the particularly gruesome missions no one else would even touch.

Erebus met and inadvertently saved Aether on the first day, gaining himself an avid new fan, something he despaired over. Aether basically worshipped the ground he walked on, to the chagrin of Erebus, who took it upon himself to avoid his brother —though Aether didn't know that— as much as possible.

In the course of five years, Erebus had accelerated through the ranks at an almost frightening pace, being made a commander right at the outbreak of another war. This war, however, was very subtle and very manipulative. It was easy to miss, especially if one was not looking for clues. Indeed, many people still don't know that there was a war at that point. Order had covered up his tracks well, making it seem like an outside force was invading the kingdom.

Chaos had enlisted Erebus as a spy for Order after hearing the Primordial's suspicions laid on his brother. Even he could admit, while he didn't want to, that Order had been acting especially secretive these past few years. And so, Erebus, following his orders, used any means necessary to gain Order's trust.

After two years of subtle prompting, Order finally relented and spilled his secrets to Erebus, who pretended to help him with his goals with the blessing of Chaos.

Then the matters spun out of control.

The warriors and mercenaries Order had recruited broke free from his command, mutinizing and forming alliances between themselves, all intent on destroying the entire kingdom to get their petty revenge.

All ASPECTs were recalled to be put back on the mission roster, whether they were on sick leave or retired. In a war situation, there simply wasn't enough specialized troops to handle the onslaught of the enemy. What with the constant attacks aimed to drive up fear and mistrust in the civilians, the ASPECTs were being run ragged.

Erebus was no exception. He was set on some of the most dangerous missions, since Chaos had a good understanding of his strength and ability to handle almost anything thrown at him. There was a reason he was called the "Destroyer." But as one of his victims was A-ranked, the highest rank that one can achieve, Erebus had been blinded in one eye and almost bled to death from a deep gasp across his chest that only just missed his heart.

While he should have been pulled from active missions and instead been put onto defence, they had suffered too many calamities, and Erebus was forced to continue.

Aether, of course, was devastated at the state of his "hero." Erebus had almost given him a heart attack when he'd stumbled into the Great Hall, drenched with blood, half of his face bleeding profusely. He just couldn't understand how calmly Erebus had taken the news that he would never be able to use his left eye again, the damage being too much for the medics to fix. Aether knew that if their situations were switched...

Five days after being injured, Erebus was sent out again on another massive A-rank, this time with his ASPECT unit comprising of himself (as Thanatos), Delusion (Hemera, Primordial of the Day), and Strife (Phanes, Primordial of Life). Unit Thurisaz was to hunt down and eliminate a possible threat in the form of a neighboring kingdom's Minister. The man had been bolstered by the rebellion rumbling in Chaos' dominion and was attempting to side with the attackers.

On the way back, every single one of them were killed.

It wasn't a glorious way to die. Strife had turned on his teammates —people he had bled with, fought with, people that had his back and saved his life numerous times.

Delusion died first, a spear through her back ending her life.

And then Strife had come after him. Exhausted and worn after using one of his trademark assassination techniques that required a copious amount of energy, Erebus could only fend him off for so long before he was defeated, slammed to one side until his wounds from the past mission reopened.

He refused to beg, and his defiance of the inevitable caught Death's curiosity. Before he could truly be considered dead, Death had intervened, pulling them off of the plane of time. Erebus had pleaded to be granted some more time to accomplish his goals, to stop Order's mad ascension to power before it was too late.

In return, he sold his soul to Death.

Erebus was granted another six months; six months to bring a conclusion to the war, for better or worse. At the end of his allotted time, Death would become his master.

The rest of Erebus' history Percy wasn't sure about. Somehow, Order had managed to poison Chaos after Erebus was presumed dead, and it was killing him slowly. Playing the part of the faithful and heartbroken brother, he wept and begged the people to help him find a way to get better, but Erebus could see through his mask, right down to the smug arrogance he felt in his heart.

Erebus was already under heavy suspicions from the High Council, for many of the old geezers were afraid of how quickly he had risen in power. Building on this uncertain fear, Order proclaimed one night at the Great Hall that he had been able to find the poisoner after days upon end of searching. It was only out of sheer luck that Erebus hadn't revealed himself to be alive to the world yet.

His accusation of Erebus being the traitor was meant by equal parts incredulity and disbelief. They were told that he had defected on his last mission, killing his teammates and sneaking back into the castle with his shadows, strangling the guards on duty. Order procured corpses from somewhere, ones indeed choked to death by shadow manipulation, but not by Erebus' hand, though the others didn't know that.

The worst part was, Erebus could imagine himself doing that. He was more than capable. But while his hate for Chaos had not diminished in the slightest, he had gained a sort of grudging appreciation for the man's tactics.

With a time limit looming over his head, Erebus went to the one person he thought he could trust.

But Nyx didn't even try to hear his side of the story, screaming at him to move, to never see her again. Her accusation bit sharply at his heart, and even though he had been careful not to form attachments (for they would result in nothing but pain in the end), she may as well have stabbed him with a rusty dagger and twisted the blade.

Erebus didn't see Aether. The boy was naiive (lovably so), but easily manipulated. Especially with the belief that the one person he looked up to was the one who killed his father, his only family (that he knew of)... Erebus couldn't grind up enough courage for that confrontation. Nyx's accusations still rang sharply in his ears, drowning out everything else, even the sound of his own heartbeat, and at times, he wondered if that had abandoned him too.

And so for weeks on end, he remained in the shadows, plotting Order's demise. Remembering his promise to his mother, he did his best to find a way so that Aether would be protected. Nyx already hated him, so he tried not to think of her too much. Erebus did not want to fill his remaining days with hurt and betrayal, or any more than it already had been.

Percy wasn't sure what exactly Erebus had done during that time, but knew that he was constantly disguised, taking on a new name so to not draw attention to the fact that he was still alive. The only pieces of memories Percy received from that time was confusing; shapes blurring together with Erebus' two-toned vision, flashes of red and regret, feelings of worry and the threat of time hanging over his head.

However it started, however it climaxed, Percy knew how it ended.

Erebus had intercepted an enemy transmission from the enemy, discovering their plan to attack in two days at midnight.

By then, weakness from Death's sickness was taking its toll. Slipping into the castle without anyone the wiser —after all, he _had_ protected this place for _years— _Erebus took Chaos' body. He was almost completely gone by then, and Order had taken up the throne. Ironic, really, how he had achieved his goal to wrest power only to be turned on by the ones he had enlisted as allies.

Hastily scribing some runes on Chaos' chest to keep him alive a little longer, Erebus took to the skies, only barely missing an air patrol as the body weighed him down. Even if he was at full strength, it would be a struggle to keep them both aloft. Now, it was almost impossible.

They crashed in the Ranged Endless, a ring of dark mountains that smothered everything below it in darkness. The shadows almost seemed to have a mind of their own, clinging to Erebus as he drew up the last reserves of his power to launch himself back into the air. Angling his wings to catch the upwards draft, he rocketed upwards, disappearing into a small tunnel that was perfectly hidden from the rest of the world if you weren't specifically looking for it.

The entire chain of mountains were interconnected via small underground tunnels, and the insides were hollowed out into great, steep canyons. It was only a matter of picking a small and unnoticeable alcove and carving the appropriate runes into the walls, covering the entire space with protective power.

Death had come, bringing with her a last gift. By fixing Erebus' eye, she had given him a special vision that, while limited in color perception, was able to see everything as it was, as its true form.

With her help, Erebus had created a runic chain that froze Chaos' body as it was so that the poison couldn't spread any further. Seeing as his time was running out, he forced himself to fly back out of the labyrinth-like tunnels. He broke open an obsidian colored rock, hesitating for only a minute before pulling his emerald colored crystal over his head and tossing it into the center.

Immediately, he felt weaker, more vulnerable, but it was necessary. His soul shard (a piece of their very soul, forged from raw elements upon their creation) would serve to act as a key to where Chaos was hidden. Whoever picked it up would be insatiably pulled towards the alcove unless the shard judged their soul to be impure.

It was only by sheer luck that Erebus managed to stumble across the battalion heading from the castle to deal with the invaders. And it was then that Erebus saw Aether's bright red cloak —so naiive, so helpless— standing out in the sea of black armor.

He saw his chance when the light cavalry stopped for a small break. The horses needed to be watered, their foam flecked lips open and panting. It would take at least half an hour before they could move again, and in that moment, Erebus struck.

When Aether headed to the edge of the woods to secure their perimeter, Erebus knocked him out with a quick blow to the back of the neck. Grabbing his body before it could crash to the ground and alert the soldiers, Erebus dragged him into a denser part of the forest, binding him tightly to a tree trunk. It wouldn't be enough to hold him forever, not that he wanted it to, but it should suffice to keep him preoccupied until the battle was over.

He should leave. He should go before Aether awakes, but some part of him couldn't _—wouldn't—_ let his brother's last memory of him being one of hate.

Donning Aether's armor, Erebus let the helmet rest cradled under one arm, pressing his fingers to a pressure point on Aether's neck, effectively jerking him awake. His eyes, still groggy, roved around the clearing before settling on Erebus.

It took him a few moments to figure out who he was staring at, but when he did, he roared out, "You!"

"Me," Erebus reiterated calmly, thankful that he had put up a silencing ward up earlier. Otherwise, this place would have been swarming with soldiers, and he really didn't feel like fighting his way through them.

"What... what are you doing?" Aether demanded. He tried to tackle Erebus or do something worse, as the insanity in his eyes attested to, but the ropes cut into his skin when he struggled to break free. "Let me go—"

Erebus held up a hand, silencing Aether's enraged growls. "I'm afraid I can't do that, nor tell you what's to come." His eyes were sad. "If you wish to know the answers, they can be found at the Ranged Endless."

Aether had quieted, the tension between his eyebrows still visible as he took in Erebus' appearance. "You're supposed to be dead," he said finally. "What happened to you?"

Erebus turned away, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold and hard. "Unimaginable things."

"I—"

"Do not trust, for it will only lead to your demise. Goodbye, Aether."

Letting the helmet condemn his fate, Erebus turned away and began to walk towards the encampment, imitating Aether's movements perfectly. Years in ASPECTs had trained him to be observant and to be able to gauge a person with a single glance.

"Move out!" he barked in Aether's voice, using latent Silvertongue abilities to ensure they didn't ask questions.

The journey to the battleground was uneventful and lasted for several hours. Reigning in Aether's horse, he wheeled them around to face the cavalry unit.

"If, at any time," he said sternly, letting his gaze meet every one of them,"you will die if you continue to fight, retreat and find shelter. Call to Nyx for reinforcements. Though she is at the castle, they may be able to come in time."

Pinning them under a piercing glare as they looked at each other curiously. It wasn't something "Aether" would say, for he hated to run away. Erebus was more practical in that sense.

"There is no point in wasting a life that can be saved," he said.

In reality, Erebus knew that they had no hope in winning this battle, but he couldn't do much else than to warn them to retreat. He had to play up his part as Aether, who was as stubborn as a mule at times and would never give in if his life depended on it.

Yet he didn't want these soldiers _—people,_ his heart amended— to suffer just because he was powerless to rectify Order's mistakes.

By now, he had come to accept the stark truth that he wouldn't be able to stop Order's rule with the little time he had remaining. He could only hold to his promises and protect Aether, while making his sacrifice count as much as he could by saving as many as he could. They all had a part to play in the world, and he hoped that they would trigger a change, a revolution to last the eons.

After giving another motivational speech (or at least he hoped it was motivational), Erebus sent them forward, telling them to use stealth until he gave the signal to continue.

As they were occupied, Erebus traced the rune Gebo over and over on his palm. Sacrifice. Balance. Honor. A fitting end.

When the ringing of pained voices and the screech of steel grinding against steel roared up in the crescendo of war, Erebus closed his eyes, whispering a last apology to the others before stepping into the fray.

It was a mass of writhing bodies. There was no order, nothing but the fear and panic that threatened to choke him out until nothing remained.

Under normal circumstances, he would able to shrug off the rather impressive show of power without a second thought. But weak and exhausted, he felt like it was slowly crushing him alive, boulders of earth raining down from either side, the sides of his vision caving in...

Erebus' arms jerked to his head, forcing himself to dispel the illusion.

The cavalry was losing. The soldiers were valiant, but they were outnumbered far too hopelessly to do any good.

"Fall back!" he tried to shout, but the acrid smoke the enemy was starting to set to their lines clamped its slimy fingers around his throat, choking his voice into nothing more than a whisper.

And then he saw Aether.

Stumbling from the way they had come, he wore only his civilian clothing, Erebus haven taken his armor to impersonate the Primordial of the Day.

He wasn't the only one who noticed his brother's arrival, for an uproar rang out from both sides of the battle, and all eyes turned onto him.

Erebus let the armor melt away, relinquishing its crushing hold on his body —no wonder Aether's _muscles_ had muscles; it would be a wonder if he _didn't,_ lugging that hunk of metal around all day.

The masquerade was over, anyways. It didn't really matter.

A cold touch cloaking his shoulders drew his attention, and he saw Death from his peripheral vision, the metal of her scythe glittering in the dying light of the sun.

"Are you ready?" she said quietly.

Erebus hesitated, letting his eyes flutter closed. He drew in a last breath.

"Goodbye, Aether," he whispered, and somehow knew that his little brother could hear him from the other side of the battlefield.

Erebus made a few gestures, slamming his open hand on the ground, sending a chain of runic symbols splitting the earth in half, black hellfire spewing from the crevice, fingers of death licking at everything it consumed.

Panic ensured, and in the chaos, no one noticed that the runes slowly crawled over the earth, forming a large, impossibly wide circle.

And when the ends met, the entire chain glowed a sickening red.

Erebus let his eyes sweep over the battleground one more time. Death gave him a tiny nod, and he returned it.

_"Gebo... detonate."_

* * *

><p><em>Erebus laid the body he had carrying against the wall, wincing and rubbing his arm to get the feeling to flow back again. Checking the man's pulse one last time, he could feel the faint whisper of life beneath his fingertips, and smiled grimly.<em>

_No matter what happened tonight, Order's plans would never truly come to fruition._

_Carving the runes Isa (time), Thurisaz (defence), Uruz (power), and Algiz (protection) on the figure's hand, Erebus forced himself to his feet, swaying a little as he struggled to function with dangerously low power reserves._

_Stopping at the mouth of the small alcove, he paused, his body silhouetted by the light streaking in from the outside world. _

_"Goodbye... Father."_

_A single feather floated down._

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>"Our trackers have him here," Nyx said, a raised hand shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun. She glanced back down at the device in her hands, before snapping it shut, stowing it securely in her pocket.<p>

Aether squinted, peering in confusion at the range of jutting mountains, and released a little bit more of his light. He couldn't fathom how anyone would want to live _here_ (well, maybe except Nyx). Drawing his sword, Aether frowned at the blade.

They were to be tracking Thanatos —apparently, Order wasn't a "forgive and forget" kind of person— and the tracking device had led them here, in the middle of the Uncharted Lands.

The middle of nowhere.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" he asked for the nth time. "Because I sure as hell don't like it here. There's a reason no one's ever documented the Uncharted Places. And plus, it's cold and dark."

"Be quiet," Nyx snapped back, but her voice lacked its usual venom. She spun in a circle, vainly searching with her eyes for something that didn't exist. "Don't you feel it?"

There was a tingling in the back of his brain, warning of death and darkness. The silence was foreboding.

"I'm... not sure," he admitted. "What do you mean?"

"Time doesn't exist here. I am not sure how it is possible, but it has no dominion over this place."

Aether raised an incredulous eyebrow. "So... the rocks are immortal?"

Nyx rolled her eyes, grimacing in exasperation. "Aether!" she exclaimed, swatting his arm with an ironclad fist. "Be serious!"

Aether held up his hands in mock surrender, giving his sister an overly exaggerated bow, his arms swinging into a ridiculous gesture.

"Thy wish is thine command, o sweet and kind lady of doom and gloom! Thine pale pallor—"

His good natured sniping was cut off by a rumble of the earth, as though the ground was cracking open beneath his feet. Grabbing Nyx's arm and jumping back, Aether was just in time to see a figure, cloaked in black, rocket out the side of one of the mountains as though shot from a cannon.

Nyx's hand jerked him back down, restraining him before he could do something rash.

"He's going to die!" Aether shouted, watching the tiny speck crash into the mountain thousands of feet above them.

An eruption of dust billowed from the impact point, clouding Aether's furious attempts to see if the figure was still alive.

"Get back!"

Nyx pulled him out of the way as a boulder tumbled from the mountain's face, crushing the place Aether had been a second earlier.

Dust consumed everything they could see, filling his lungs with dry powder, choking him until he couldn't breathe. Coughing harshly, he flapped his hand in front of his face, trying to avoid breathing in any more ashes.

When the light finally filtered through enough to provide a little illumination, Aether raised his head to see a figure perched on the peak of the boulder with unnatural balance. Nyx, with all of her cat-like grace, would have had trouble emulating what this stranger did with careless abandon.

"Who are you?" Aether demanded, reaching defensively for his sword, but in the next second, the figure was gone, only to reappear without a single sound in front on him, his wrist caught in a surprisingly firm grip.

He moved like a ghost. Like the wind. Like... Thanatos.

But it wasn't. He could tell. Even with the shadows amassing his face, throwing it into darkness, Aether could make out his heterochromatic eyes, the right a vivid green, the other shining crimson with three emerald streaks through the iris. They glowed with unshielded power, luminescent in the otherwise bleak landscape.

Beautiful.

Aether let his gaze turn to the slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. It looked deceptively fragile, and impossibly pale, almost unhealthily so. But he knew that despite the figure's languid appearance, he could kick Aether's ass so hard it would still hurt millennia later.

And when he spoke, Aether found his mind fogging up, a calm mist pervading every movement, every thought, until was could not think...

Then the moment cleared and Aether was left groggy and confused.

"Peace," the stranger's voice was strangely melodic, "I mean you no harm. Nor your sister. You may wish to tell her to come out from the shadows. She cannot hide in my domain."

Nyx stumbled out, most likely from astonishment than compliance.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, incredulous. "You're the first that's been able to sense me when I'm hiding."

Even with the figure's face concealed, Aether could hear the thin smile in his voice. "I have my ways," he said quietly, finally releasing Aether's wrist. When the Primordial looked down, he could see the pale finger marks slowly fade to a healthy pink.

Frostbite?

"And if we're playing Twenty Questions, it is now my turn. What are you doing in my home uninvited?"

The question was cool, but Aether could hear the underlying threat. From the stiff set of Nyx's shoulders, he knew she heard it too.

"We were looking for someone," she said, picking her words carefully, "someone wanted by our master for killing many of his subordinates ruthlessly."

The stranger's eyebrow quirked. "Indeed?"

Aether swallowed the tenseness in his throat, hoping the figure's hawk-like eyes couldn't catch his nervousness. "Aye," he agreed. "Thanatos, he is called. The Champion of Death itself."

"Her," the stranger corrected, almost as though out of habit. "Death is a female."

Aether pushed away the surprise, telling himself that he shouldn't even _feel_ surprised after this. "You have... met her?" he said faintly.

The stranger shrugged nonchalantly, as though one met Death every day for tea (though for all Aether knew, maybe he _did)._

"Once upon a time," he said dismissively. "She is not the monster your people make her out to be."

"Just who are you?" Nyx's voice was wary.

The figure's eyes rested on Nyx for a moment, his gaze impossibly heavy and assessing. When he looked away, Nyx felt as though she had failed some sort of test.

"A wanderer," he finally replied, and anger tinged his words an icy color. "Nothing more."

Aether was the first out of the two to shake himself out of his awed stupor.

"We are sorry for intruding," he said, for once glad that P— that people had forced him to learn formal language and etiquette.

"Nevertheless, we are searching for Thanatos. Has he passed your lands these past few days?" Nyx continued.

The stranger did not reply for a few moments, and Aether thought he never would. Then:

"I do not believe so."

When the stranger turned to leave, Aether caught a flash of black, gleaming at him from within the expanses of smooth flesh exposed by the wide collar.

And it was also then when Aether realized why he looked so familiar. Now his cerulean eyes trained unblinkingly on the stranger. He raised one finger, pointing to at the dull glimmer.

"You!" he said in astonishment, eyes the size of porcelain dishes. "I recognize you!"

The stranger stiffened, his entire body tensing as though ready to fight. Hastily toning down the eagerness in his voice, Aether shoved Nyx aside with speed he didn't know he had and snatched the chain from around the stranger's neck.

The stranger staggered back, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he was physically forcing himself not to attack. Beside Aether, he could hear Nyx's sharp intake of breath as Aether stared, motionless, at the small crystal nestled in his palm.

"_You_..." he said again, awe in his voice. "You are a Primordial!"

The stranger growled, a low guttural sound, ripping Aether's hands off of him.

"Do _not_. touch. me," he snarled, implacable rage poisonous in their close proximity.

Aether blanched, his mind finally catching up to his actions. Before Aether could stammer and make a fool out of himself (stupidstupidstupid! what was he _thinking?) _Nyx pushed him aside.

"I apologize for my bumbling oaf of a brother," she said smoothly. "I hope you can forgive his trespassing on your person. We were just... _surprised_, to find another one of us. Another Primordial. Indeed, I did not know it was possible for one of us to remain hidden from the others for so long."

"No, no, that's not it!" Aether had finally regained his tongue, though he cringed at the venomous glare sent his way by Nyx, and the practically scathing one from the Primordial. He pressed on, adamant and stubborn. "You saved me once, millennia ago. I had almost forgotten but for your eyes. Never in my life have I seen something so..."

Aether trailed off, unable to think of those eyes as beautiful when they were practically spitting fireballs at him.

"...unique," he finished lamely.

Nyx pursed her lips. "I know of you," she said, words slow as she pondered over her thoughts. "Eons ago, Order told us of a new power that had come to pass, one of undetermined strength. But when we tried to contact you, our sources came up blank. And then, one day, you just... disappeared. There have been no traces of you ever since. Until now."

The Primordial was silent.

"Eloquently stated," he finally reiterated. "I have been... ah, _incapacitated,_ for the past—"

"—seventeen thousand years," Nyx supplied.

"Has it really been that long?" the Primordial muttered. "This place has not changed in the slightest. But yes, I have awoken only now."

"What will you do now?" Nyx asked, leaning back on her heels, arms crossed. The Primordial's eyes lost their focus, as though remembering some long forgotten memory.

"Do?" he echoed. "I'm afraid I have not thought that far yet."

"How would you like to come work with us?"

_"—how would you like to work for me?" Chaos' eyes gleamed—_

"And why should I tether myself to one man with delusions of grandeur?"

Nyx gritted her teeth at the barb directed towards Order. The Primordial was being unfair. While Order may not always make the right decision, his heart was in the right place and he tries his best. No one could ask for better.

"The world," she admitted grudgingly, "is corrupt. While the nation was first formed on values based on bravery and intelligence, of selflessness and truth, time has corrupted these ideals into something twisted and ugly. If there is no change, the world will end. I know it. Order tries to quell the particularly ambitious ones, but it is of no use. Truthfully... we need new blood. New power. And I have been lead to trust my instincts, which have saved me countless times in wars. They are begging me to recruit you right now, for you may very well be our catalyst for change."

The Primordial appeared to be deep in thought, though Nyx got the feeling that his decision was not, in any way, swayed by her passionate speech.

_Erebus gritted his teeth, eyes blazing with unsuppressed fire. "I accept—"_

"—your generous offer," he said, and Nyx jumped, having missed the first half of his statement.

"I will come with you to your fortress," the Primordial continued, his voice cold, daring either of them to try to break their oaths. "Provided that you show no hostility and speak only the truth. I have my ways of knowing who is lying, and I cannot trust my life with someone who holds important information within themselves when it could impact the world."

Nyx got the feeling that it was another dig on Order's character.

"Do not try to subdue me in any way, for I will ravage your cities to the ground without a second thought. Do you understand?"

Before Nyx could retort, Aether cut in, elbowing his sister hard enough in the ribs to send her breath flying out in a heavy whoosh.

"It's is perfectly acceptable," he said, and hesitated, blue eyes careful. The stranger nodded in permission, his stance shifting into a more relaxed —yet no less ready— position. Holding his hand out in a handshake, Aether said,

"I am Aether, Primordial of the Day. Nyx, my sister, is that of the Night. May I inquire your name?"

The stranger hesitated, seemingly thinking his question over before deeming it appropriate. His voice was as quiet as always, but something about his stillness sent wary shivers up Aether's spine. As he drew his hood off with a graceful hand and those piercing eyes found Aether's, he felt so powerless and insignificant, like the Primordial could crush him under his foot if he wanted.

And then there was that nagging feeling of nostalgia, of... _remembrance._ It was starting to drive Aether mad, not knowing.

Even pale and worn, the Primordial radiated unadulterated power. His eyes —red and green clashing in a fiery maelstrom of barely suppressed emotions— bore into Aether's very soul, and suddenly he felt so very small.

"I... am Erebus, Primordial of the Endless. Hello, Aether, Nyx. It's a pleasure to meet you again."


	11. Berkano (Secrets)

**Author's Notes — **This chapter wrote itself, hence the quick_(er)_ update. Yes, Reyna is in this chapter! I know most of you must be flabbergasted that _yes,_ Solaerius has _finally_ managed to stick Camp Jupiter in here! It's really happening.

The story is starting to pick up, but I'm trying to make sure all of you know what's going on, so I've added a bit more cohesive sense instead of my rather erratic thoughts and scribbles. Foreshadowing ahead, both blatant and hidden. Let me know if you find any; I'm interested in seeing what you guys assume is going to happen.

**Challenge** — I've recently been asked by an inquisitive reader if this was going to be a **Death/Percy** story. To be honest, I've never thought about it this way. But if any of you are interested in the idea of a spin-off with this pairing, leave a review and I'll draft up some suggestions and rules next chapter.

**Dedication** — to everyone waiting for Reyna! She hath arrived!

**Review replies** — thank you to everyone who left me a note! I sincerely appreciate every one of them :)

_**princeoftheseas**_ (thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.) _**Known-As-Rome**_ (I'm glad you think so! Truthfully, I'm rather surprised anyone thinks that, but this only boosts my motivation to continue!) _**A lone Black Angel**_ (*laughs* Well, last time I checked, I still haven't become a demigod yet. Depressing thought, really. But I'm happy you like this story, and don't worry! English isn't my first language either :) _**DeathmatchDrunkard**_ (Yes, Chaos is still somewhere behind the barrier. Erebus impersonated Aether in 15 000 BC, not 10 000, but it really doesn't matter; it can be taken either way. The timeflow difference won't be ridiculously exaggerated, like I've seen in many Chaos stories, where Percy miraculously becomes a commander and only two earth years had passed. For every one earth day, two days in the other dimension has passed. This is liable to change, but that is what I am thinking right now. You're almost correct with the Nico/Aether Nyx/Thalia part, but there's a rather important part missing. It's too massive to put down here, and I doubt I'd be able to make it make sense. It will be explained next chapter. And Lamia is correct.) _**Doyoureallycare**_ (You're quite right, actually! I'm glad you've been able to decipher the scrawls that are my attempts at writing. in Chapter Six, Percy meets the Erebus in his mind, who fuses with him to keep both of them alive and to give Percy his memories and skill accumulation. Since Percy's mind wouldn't be able to take the sudden influx of information, most of it comes as bits and pieces or dreams. In Chapter Ten, Percy realizes that Death is missing and when he goes to search for her, he comes across the place where his past self had hidden Chaos' body. Aether and Nyx track Percy to the mountains, where they mistake him to be the Primordial of the Endless, so he meshes up his many identities and tells them his name was Erebus. Does it make more sense now?)_** Slytherin Cat**_ (I certainly hope so! But to clarify things, Erebus of the Endless is just Percy that made up another identity, not some stupid OC that got chucked into the story. I hope this chapter clarifies some of your questions, but if not, feel free to leave me questions :) _**SONxOFxCHAOS**_ (It's finally here! Enjoy -or at least, I hope so-) _**griffindork93**_ (Reyna isn't Death, and she comes in this chapter! Can you believe that? I will include more Poseidon later on, when he finally learns what Zeus did and decides to pummel him to the ground in very painful, nasty ways.) _**WideOpenSpacesGirl045**_ (I'm thinking of abject humiliation so far. His ego needs deflating, or at least, as much as it _can_ deflate. Reyna is here!) **_Lord Sanguine_** (come on; ask me some questions then! I can't help you if I don't know how.) **_aesir21_** (don't worry, your wish has been fulfilled. Reyna and Percy meet in this chapter, though I'll say it isn't under the happiest of circumstances.) **cool** (thank you, and I will!) **Leftover Meal** (I'm glad to hear that, and I hope this chapter makes sense as well :) How is your story faring?)

I've been typing this chapter on my iPod, so the spelling is most likely atrocious. And don't even get me started on autocorrect.

-Solaerius

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><p><em>"You would have been nothing without me, Zeus."<em>

**Chapter VI**  
><em><strong>Berkano<strong>_  
>ß<p>

_Rune for secrets, sanctuary, creation._

* * *

><p>In the beginning, there was Chaos.<p>

With elements only whispered of to mankind, he shaped the world with naught but his bare hands. From Darkness he wrought shadows and hellfire, and its opposite, Light, brought forth the air and sky. Life spread colors to the world, and Death's Endless ripped them away to maintain the precarious balance.

But he did not anticipate that these elements he had brought over were as elusive as he, that they worked in ways the brain cannot even begin to fathom. The collective energies of these elements fused together, forming the world as it should, but shards —mere fragments— broke out of his control. Throughout eons of practice, the energies took on a human form.

They were the Primordials.

Powerful beyond recognition, they drew their power directly from their domains, an endless source of chaos and destruction. Taking pieces of their souls, the Primordials forged them into the shapes of crystals, the fragments of their own being helping them dominate any who dared to oppose them.

But with great power came great weakness, and the Primordials were not without their flaws.

Without their soul shards, their powers were limited. While they could still fight and defend themselves better than any mortal, or even god, it would take much less to subdue them. Some may be driven mad by the separation, unable to think, to breathe, to do anything except for reclaiming their own.

And they say that when the world ends, the Primordials will dissolve, fading back into the elements from where they came. It is also why the beings who wish to destroy the world would target the Primordials, for the connection works both ways and without them, their domains would crumble.

_-Hesiod's Theogony (Solaerius)_

* * *

><p>The journey back to the Capital was uneventful, but Percy's heart still threatened to leap out of his chest. It was surprising no one else could hear the rapid thudding of his too-fast pulse.<p>

He could feel Aether giving him a strange look from the corner of his eye, and he realized that some of his internal conflict must have shown up on his face. Quickly smoothing down his impassive mask, Percy returned the stare steadily, letting a bit of power make his eyes burn brighter.

"Is something amiss?"

Aether averted his gaze, unnerved.

"No," he muttered. "Nothing."

Percy mentally berated himself for his slip in composure. Nothing good ever became of that. For whenever he wasn't paying attention, something always ended up trying to kill him in painful, nasty ways, or in the very least tried to make his life as difficult as possible.

Such as now. It must have been the epitome of awkward moments.

Of course, that was Percy's own fault. In the mountain's tunnel he had been careless and had set off one of the numerous traps, which would have no doubt been fatal has he not been able to fly. The impact had sent jets of dust streaming into the air, drowning out what little light could get through the chain of mountains.

And then, through the burning debris peppering the ground, Percy saw them. Nyx and Aether—Nico and Thalia.

He had been prepared to kill anyone who stumbled upon this place, but... not them. Never them.

Aether, startled, had started to reach for a weapon. Instinctively, Percy struck, disappearing out of the range of sight. His hand had already started to move into a killing blow, honed by nature and necessity, and he was just able to stop himself before the strike landed.

stupidstupidstupidhowcouldhehavelost_control_...

Shaken, Percy tried to cover it by calling for Nyx to come out from the shadows. He was bitterly amused at her astonishment. However much she tried to hide it, she would always be as clear as day to him.

But they didn't recognize him.

Perhaps it was the change of clothing, or maybe because his eye color had changed, mirroring that of Erebus' after Death had finished her tampering. Whatever the reason, he was not associated with Thanatos, and Percy finally let himself to release a relieved breath.

Of course, Fate had it in for him since the day he was born. He should have known better to hope that _that_ would have changed.

Aether saw his necklace and pretty much assaulted him on the spot in his excitement. Or maybe it was anger. It was hard to tell with the flurry of emotions darkening his face.

His first reaction was, _"They've figured out who I am."_

Only they didn't. Of course, being mistaken to be the Primordial of the Endless wasn't any better. But Percy could understand why they thought that.

After Erebus had been presumed dead, he needed to use another identity. Only one of his past identities that he used when undercover in ASPECTs could suffice. He possessed too much power to pass himself as a mere mortal, or even a god. Only a Primordial had so much raw strength, and Erebus had found no more reason to hide his true abilities.

Thus, the Primordial of the Endless had been reborn.

Technically speaking, Percy was _indeed_ the Primordial of the Endless. Being the Champion of Death, he would be considered a Primordial, though the others weren't aware of the fact. Percy himself had only found out after Death had blatantly told him so.

Percy had decided to play along with their assumptions, because he would have a hard time convincing them otherwise, and frankly, Percy had not prepared for this part of their encounter.

He was _definitely not_ amused when they asked him to join their cause under Order. Biting back his immediate disgust, he forced a sickeningly sweet smile on his face, the gesture causing his cheek muscles to twitch erratically.

He wanted Order to die. To atone for his sins in a place he'll never be able to escape, trapped in the deepest, darkest pits of his mind.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made to keep a close eye on Order. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, after all. If he were able to gain influence with Order and his trust —_just like Erebus had before,_ a treacherous voice whispered in the back of his head, _and look how readily Order had tossed him aside— _

Ruthlessly quelling the feelings of bloodlust and the need for revenge, Percy allowed the unnatural smile to drop from his face, leaving it blank and unreadable.

Order may have had something to do with Death's disappearance. She was a powerful deity, and one that would not be subdued easily. The only one he could think of with that kind of power was either Order or Chaos, except that the latter was still comatose in a mountain.

Staying close to Order would allow him access to potentially important documents, and he might be able to unravel the questions that plagued him day in and day out. And if anything went wrong, he could always fight his way out.

So Percy told them, yes, he would come, and listed several conditions to not make it seem like he had given in too easily.

His side story of being asleep for eons was a good way to explain why he stuck out like a sore thumb in their culture. No matter how quickly Percy was able to adjust to this foreign dimension, there were still things he had no clue about, or even ones he had no _clue_ he had no clue about.

And since his past self went by Percy —he wondered for a moment if _he_ was named after _himself,_ however _that_ worked— he used the name Erebus. To use another name would create yet another identity for him to keep track of, and honestly, it was already becoming a handful.

Shaking himself out of his daydreams, Percy felt eyes burning a hole in his back.

"If you're quite done staring at me," Aether started at his chilly tone, then flushed guiltily, "I would suggest we hurry back before nightfall. You do not wish to be anywhere near the Uncharted Lands when the particular vicious creatures scurry out of hiding."

Aether looked away, his lips thinning, but in frustration more than anger. Jerking the reins on his horse harshly, he made the stallion go faster and faster, as though running would outdistance his troubles.

Erebus' voice stirred memories nagging on the edges of his mind, ones that were starting to rust away in the onslaught of time.

Truthfully, he sounded too much like Percy for comfort, though it was almost a relief to hear anything remotely close to the late Primordial's refined tones. Aether was beginning to forget —his sarcastic wit, his wry amusements— and that frightened him worse than any monster he had encountered.

He didn't _want_ to lose all that he had so desperately clung to, but the eons were not doing him any favors.

Biting his lip, the Primordial of Day closed his cerulean eyes, fighting back the horde of bittersweet memories that threatened to spill from his mind and be lost to the deluge forever.

-o-

And thousands of dimensions away, another pair of crazed blue eyes blinked open, the knife clutched in one hand ripping a ragged cut through the teddy bear's stomach, eviscerating its contents. Fluffy bits of stuffing clung to every surface as the legacy of Apollo shuffled through it, muttering darkly under his breath.

Beside him, a girl with dark, almost black hair gathered into one thick braid regarded him with something akin to boredom. Gripping the gladius in her hand in a lazy fashion, she fixed the boy with a stare.

_"Well?"_ she drawled. "Surely you cannot be telling me of another invasion, Octavian. It's been the _sixth_ one this month, and nothing has even _happened_ so far."

"The stuffings do not _lie!"_ Octavian snapped, angrily swiping a bit of teddy bear guts from his pale hair.

Reyna managed to keep a straight face, only the barest twitches of her lips betraying her hidden amusement. "Of course not," she said evenly. "But perhaps you should rest your Inner Eye. It would do no good to exhaust it, and quite frankly, I believe the council has had enough with your false predictions."

"The _prophecies_ do not lie, either!" the augur growled, in a tone that _would_ have been threatening if he wasn't practically wading in piles of disemboweled stuffed animals. "They need time to come true!"

"—time we do not have," Reyna said, absently shooing away her silver automaton dog from where it was attempting to chew on her praetor cape and eat the remains of a fluffy silver bunny. "The Feast of Fortuna is coming up faster than you can imagine, and the deadline is as well."

"You have no right to lecture me on what is right!" Octavian visibly struggled to contain his temper. "_I_ am the augur, not _you._ Do not tell me how to do _my_ job."

Reyna arched an eyebrow. "Very well, Octavian. On your head it is, then." She turned to leave.

"You do not understand," the sickly boy whispered under his breath, clenching his fists until the knuckles stood out, bony white against blush-blood red.

Reyna started to address the seething legacy, but suddenly her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth. Frowning, she tried to step forward, to demand to know what Octavian had done to her, but she could not control her actions and her vision was already sifting away into black.

The landing knocked all breath from her body, her head slamming against the ground so hard white stars exploded in her eyes. In a daze, it registered groggily that she must have fallen against the floor of the temple.

"A—Aurum," she gasped out, blindly stretching her hand out to feel the cold muzzle of her automaton dog, who whimpered and licked her palm with a wet tongue. "Get... get Lupa..."

Immediately, the dog was gone, leaving Reyna's arm to fall to the ground, flopping to her side limply. Argentum circled Reyna's body, baring his teeth at Octavian, polished fangs gleaming in anticipation to sink into the flesh of anyone who dared to harm his master.

And then Reyna's entire body went slack, the tension melting away like the release of a bowstring. She slumped against Argentum's cold flank, feeling her eyes glaze over. Hollow sounds rang in her ears, drowning out the steady thud of her heartbeat until it was all she could hear.

Voices, barely indescribable, filtered through the cracks, some shouting hoarsely, others quiet and unshakable. Reyna could tell it was all in a different language, but somehow, she could understand what they were saying.

Colors —molten, too-vibrant colors—hurt her eyes, and it took a moment for her vision to adapt and the world to shift into clarity.

She was staring at a battle scene, or what _would_ have been a battle scene had she been able to see the combatants. They were moving at speeds her eyes could not pick up, and it was only after their swords clashed together in a screech of sparks did Reyna figure out where they were standing.

"Atego tem inlatan hoc paten iter!" one shouted, his stark white hair splattered with arcs of bloodstains. The massive broadsword in his hands looked much too heavy and clumsy to lift, let alone use, but the man —if he even _was_ one— wielded it with ease.

_'I thought you said this route was clear!'_ was what he had said, which left more questions than answers. Route to what? And where was she, anyways?

"Fuite ante, quo vite detre inna?" This time, the speaker was a tall woman dressed in armor as black as the night. Reyna started in apprehension, having not sensed her before she revealed her presence.

_'It was before, how was I to know?'_

Reyna's hand snaked towards her gladius. It was with some alarm that she realized it wasn't in its usual place at her hip. And it was in even greater alarm that she realized her arm was _transparent and not all there._

Before she could do anything else or have a panic attack, a solid arm crooked around her neck, effectively strangling her breath before she could even comprehend what had just happened.

"Du vultis isun, caius stas," the figure growled. She could feel the warmth emanating from their proximity, and had to fight down a blush despite the circumstances. His other arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, somehow able to hold on to her spirit form.

_'Who sent you?'_

"No one." Reyna kept her voice leveled and steady, and took a breath to quell her shaking nerves. "I'm not sure how I got here, but if you could return me to my body, that would be greatly appreciated."

The arm loosened, and the bitter edge of the knife finally dropped away. Reyna lurched forward, breathing deeply and massaging the icy cold feeling that threatened to freeze her throat.

"You are not dead," he said, after regarding her with blank eyes. Reyna gaped at his perfect, accentless English. "Why are you here, halfblood?"

"I don't know what happened," she said, watching with some trepidation as the other gods —for their skill level boasted of something higher than simple mortals— finished their own duels and were looking inquisitively at their third member.

"Ist hein ririich tun?" White-Hair asked, flicking the residue blood off of his blade, the droplets spattering the ground at Reyna's feet.

_'Is something the matter?'_

"Ingen," her attacker replied in the foreign tongue, giving his head a slight shake. "Il audisse."

_'No. I thought I heard something. It is nothing.'_

It was with some trepidation that Reyna noticed how the others' gazes flitted over her, as though she did not exist for them. She wondered why he was the only one who could spot her detached spirit floating beside them like a particularly lost ghost.

The girl in black narrowed her eyes, but said nothing as they reined in their horses to face the setting sun.

The figure stared after them, his mouth thinning in distaste. One hand reaching into his sleeve, he pulled out a plain, yet elegant knife carved with archaic symbols. His face never wavered from its bored, apathetic expression.

Before Reyna could figure out what he meant to do with it, the blade arced up, catching the sunlight as it came down. Though she was used to shows of violence, she couldn't help but wince, watching the steady beads of blood coalesce off the edge.

As he pulled out the now drenched weapon, shaking the remnants from the puncture wound in his hand, Reyna noticed the thin scratches inscribed on the flat of the blade glowing with an unearthly light.

"What—"

He thrust the weapon between her ribs, and Reyna jerked with a pained gasp. Her entire body flared with a painful light, but she couldn't scream; her throat was clamped down with the agony that burned through her veins like molten steel.

The figure's eyes bore into her, icy cold and venomous.

_"I will no longer help the gods. Let this be a warning to them."_

* * *

><p>Reyna woke to see SPQR painted in large, scrolling letters over the northern wall.<p>

The infirmary's lumpy cot dug into her back, but no matter how much she twisted and shifted, she couldn't find a comfortable position. A sharp pain made itself known in her head, aggravated by her restless moving. One hand massaging her temple in a vain attempt to soothe the headache, she pressed the other to her ribs, fully expecting it to be bandaged.

Her fingers met only smooth skin. There was no wound.

"Reyna!"

Said girl tensed, her entire body going rigid. She was the praetor —weakness was not acceptable. As she debated her choices, a mass of dark, curly locks bobbed into view.

Reyna relaxed slightly.

"Centurion Hazel," she greeted, trying to keep up her imperious tone. The daughter of Hades' smile slipped a bit, but it was quickly replaced with a genuine look of concern. She drew up a chair, the back legs scratching thin lines against the linoleum floor.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. How long have I been here?"

"Only a few hours," Hazel supplied, handing Reyna a glass of water and helping her drink it down, ignoring her attempts to push off her help with a stubborn look in her eyes.

"Has—"

"And I've been the only one here, except for Lupa," she cut in, answering Reyna's unasked question. "She was the one who brought you here from the temple. I saw Octavian. He looked chagrined somehow. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," Reyna answered shortly. "Or at least, I'm not sure. I have to talk to Lupa about a vision I had. I _think_ it was a vision, anyways, albeit a horrifyingly realistic one."

Hazel pushed back from the bed, brushing a lock of hair that escaped behind her ear. Shooing away Reyna's attempts to get up, she let her chair clatter to the floor.

"I'll get her."

A few impatient moments later, Lupa stalked in by herself, her giant form towering over Reyna's bed, blocking out the window's light. Reyna struggled to sit up, pushing away the remnants of her throbbing headache.

"Lupa," she bowed her head dizzily, "I believe I may have news that will concern the gods."

The wolf's lips curled into a snarl, but after years reading her expressions, Reyna knew it was more of an amused smile.

_'Surely not another one of Octavian's predictions?'_

A little smile of her own tugged at the corner of her lips.

"No," she agreed, enjoying the ability to poke fun at Octavian's expense. "Octavian has no new messages for Lord Apollo, but I do."

Reyna could almost feel Lupa's eyebrow raise (if wolves _had_ eyebrows, anyways).

_'That is usually the augur's job, is it not?'_

"That is true," she conceded, "but I'm not sure if Octavian _was_ the one who did something to me, which was why I sent Aurum. We were in the temple, and Octavian was, _ah,_ sacrificing more stuffed animals. I turned to leave, but then my vision turned to black and when I could see again, I was a spirit in what seemed like another dimension."

Lupa sat up straighter, her tail swishing restlessly against her hind legs. _'Another dimension—it is most unheard of.'_

Reyna noted how she never said it was impossible. She bit her lip in conflict.

"I believe it was," she finally said. "I could not feel the presence of the gods or of the Mist. There were other —even more powerful— beings in that world, dwarfing everything else. They fought like," she shuddered a bit at the memory, "like devils. It was impossible to see them until their sword had felled you to the ground."

Lupa's ear twitched erratically. She seemed perturbed, an expression Reyna had never seen before on her face.

"There was one in particular. He could see me when the others could not, and he was perhaps the quietest of the three. I did not sense him until he had me at his mercy."

Lupa's voice sounded almost... desperate.

_'What did he look like?'_

Reyna frowned. "I'm... not sure," she admitted. "I did not get much of a good look at his face. But," she added hastily, seeing Lupa's disappointed expression, "I did get to see his eyes. One was a crimson red, with three parallel slash marks. The other was a vivid green. The greenest I've ever seen before, and they glowed with unnatural power."

Lupa's claws had sunk into the linoleum floor, leaving ten deep gouges in the stone.

"And he had some sort of crystal around his neck. It's impossible to describe."

Lupa was silent for a long time. Reyna thought she wasn't going to speak.

_'Black,'_ she suddenly said, breaking out of her chain of thought. _'The crystal was a deep black, with streaks of emerald lines cutting across one side. Mist swirled in the translucent surface, showing images of things better left unseen.'_

"Yes," Reyna said in surprise, not missing the way Lupa's wolfish visage drained of color at her affirmation. The floor cracked under her massive claws, chunks crumbling beneath the pressure.

_'The gods must know,'_ Lupa murmured, her tail whipping in agitation. _'They must be made aware of the danger.'_

The stranger's last message came to mind. Reyna cleared her throat, drawing Lupa's unwavering attention. "He had a message. '_I will no longer help the gods. Let this be a warning to them.'_ Those were his exact words."

Lupa hissed in a growling breath through her teeth.

'He_ has returned. He will seek to gain retribution against Zeus for going back on a deal they made, eons ago. Olympus is in danger.'_

"Who _is_ he?" Reyna asked, her hands fisting the blankets on the bed, crumpling the rough material. "I need to be able to prepare the people, should the need arise. If he takes out the demigods, then the gods will be seve_r_ely weakened."

Lupa paced in a tight circle, the thick pad of her paws grinding against the shattered floor.

_'Thanatos,'_ she finally said, reluctant to say the name._ 'He was known to men as Thanatos, the lieutenant and champion of Death herself.'_

Reyna's eyes narrowed. "You seemed to have known him very well."

Lupa was almost at the exit, the light from the drawn blinds outlining her flattened ears in black.

_'Once,'_ she said softly._ 'Or at least, I thought I did. You do not want him for an enemy.'_

Then she was gone, and Reyna was left alone with only her thoughts for company.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>The deaths of all Big Three demigods struck the Olympians deeply.<p>

It was too much. Too much bloodshed, too much carnage, too much loss.

The circumstances would be different if they had been killed in battle; at least they would have died defending what they believed in and with a purpose to the last.

But they had not. The facade of peace was just a pretty, pretty lie. The kind the gods were best at. For one had been thrown into Tartarus for reasons unknown, the other two poisoned right under the gods' very noses.

Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades had yet to threaten each other with a World War III, but somehow, that made the other gods even more nervous. The tension between them was so thick that it could be cut with a sword, and all were afraid one would finally snap and obviate the earth under ruin.

It was like trying to deactivate a nuclear bomb that was liable to go off at any second without warning.

After weeks of thought, Athena was the first to come up with a solution. She presented it to the silent council, ignoring the burning eyes of Hestia as she poked at the smoldering coals.

"Father," she stated confidently. "I believe I have come up with a solution to our impasse."

Her words were met by an uncertain silence. From the corner of her eye, she could see Apollo shifting, brow furrowed, muttering things under his breath that she couldn't hear.

Undeterred, she pressed on. "Each god will choose one of their Greek children to become part of the Elites. This works rather in the same way as," Athena gestured towards Artemis, who scowled darkly, "as Artemis' hunters. They cannot die of old age or sickness, but can be brought down in combat. While Chiron is an excellent trainer, he does not know the secrets to our trade as well as one who has our blood running through their veins. This will ensure that our halfblood children will be better prepared for another war, if need be, and that they would not diverge from the gods."

Zeus was the first to break the thick silence, his face the calm before a storm. "All in favor?" he asked quietly, his bravado gone. It seemed that Thalia's death had impacted him more than he would care to admit.

He put his hand up.

Ares joined him, looking smug. He was no doubt thinking of all the killing techniques he could now share with whichever child he chose.

Dionysis also allowed himself to be swayed. The solemn, slightly drunk expression on his face bore tribute to the fact that he was thinking of Castor and hoping that no more of his children died because of him.

Hephaestus grunted in agreement. He stroked out the smoldering fire in his beard, keeping his eyes fixed intently to his task.

Demeter voiced her favor for Athena's idea, her cereal left forgotten. Despite her position as one of the Olympian council, she was rarely taken seriously. She could create obscure, undetectable poisons or create a plague so intense that the mortals would wipe themselves out for what little food remained.

After some deliberation, Hera put her hand up. While she did not fancy the idea of her husband being encouraged to foster any more brats, they were only half-immortal. the goddess could kill them if she wished to; besides, she could pass on the choice to her champions, if she wished to.

"Brother?" Zeus asked, seeing as Poseidon was sitting in his throne with his teeth gritted and eyes cold with anger. "Do you not agree? This-"

"No," the sea god said, clenching his teeth. "The promise of immortality, however slight, is corruptive. And everlasting life is not a blessing as you so foolishly believe. I vote no."

Seizing his chance at the brief lull in conversation following Poseidon's speech, Apollo added in his own two cents. "It wouldn't be wise, you know." He leaned back in his throne, earphones firmly plugged into his ears. "I've seen parts of the future. Not enough, just snatches. But know that whatever you choose," he directed this bit to the goddess of wisdom, who was still perched in the center of the room, "this choice of yours, Athena, will lead to either great things or terrible endings. I say no. However awesome my kids may be, and, I know they're so much awesomer than your kids, letting one of them become immortal would give them further incentive to underestimate the gods. How can we rule the world, if we can't even control our own kids without bribery?"

"While my brother has a thick head," Artemis interrupted, ignoring Apollo's indignant exclamation, "he may be right for once. And if I may be honest... the world does not need any more lecherous _boys."_

"Well, gee thanks, _little_ sis," Apollo muttered, dodging one of Artemis' arrows as she seethed. "I always knew you believed in me."

Zeus turned his eyes to Aphrodite, who was sitting in her throne quietly. Correctly guessing what his look meant, she said only, "Love is powerful. But it is also fickle."

Aphrodite turned her eyes away, resolutely glaring at a microscopic chip in her nails as though wishing it would burst into flames, something that was uncharacteristic for the normally flamboyant goddess.

Hermes exhaled slowly, looking as though he had aged twenty years. His caduceus was propped against the arm of his throne, George and Martha hissing reassuring things as they twined around the golden shaft.

"I've learned my lesson with Luke," he said tiredly. "It may be too late to save him, but at least I can make sure that this type of thing does not happen again. I vote no."

Zeus paused for a moment, counting the number of murmured assents. "Be as that may be, Hermes, Athena's suggestion passes seven to five."

The other gods made their choices quietly, with a few complications. Zeus and Hera chose to postpone their decision until they had someone to recommend. Poseidon refused to choose at _all_, stating that Richard was no child of his. The statement was met by disbelief.

"How can he not be your kid?" Ares demanded. "Sure, he's a disgusting little snot, but he lives in your cabin!"

"The demigod is Amphitrite's," Poseidon conceded, his lips thinning dangerously. "I only allowed him in and _claimed_ him was because of a favor I owed my... _wife."_

He spat out the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Be as that may be," Zeus boomed. "He is still the Cabin Three counsellor. You have claimed him, your blood or not."

"Fine," Poseidon said, his temper starting to flare. "But if he turns out as despicable as even an eighth of what his mother had been like, you have just given yourself another problem. I refute my claim on him. You can make him half-immortal if you want, but I will have nothing to do with him!"

Artemis nodded in slighted agreement, polishing the tip of her arrow with a loving air, as though imagining how it would feel to puncture Richard's flesh.

"The boy _is_ pretty disgusting, even by male standards. He keeps leering at my Hunters. The only reason he still remains to see the next day is because I thought he was under Uncle Poseidon's protection. Next time, I _will_ turn him into a jackalope and let my Hunters take him down."

"Hey, _I'm_ the _only_ one allowed to leer at your Hunters!" Apollo said, shooting his twin a reproachful look. He fingered his bow, intent on staking his claim on his sister's Hunters.

Zeus intervened before a bickering match could convene between the two siblings. They would be there for days if that were to happen, and Zeus had no wish to be caught in the middle.

"Enough!" he rumbled, slamming his thunderbolt down on the arm of his chair. Ozone crackled and thunder boomed, the smell of a storm calming the other gods. When the noise quieted, he addressed his vehemently scowling brother. "Poseidon. Claim him for now, and when you find a replacement, replace him."

Poseidon's jaw was stubborn. "Fine," he said again. "And if he turns out as I say he will, mark my words, _brother_, he will be your problem to fix. I have already warned you."

Silence greeted his words, before Ares tactlessly broke it by bellowing that he chose Clarisse.

Hermes nominated both of the Stoll brothers. When the war god looked like he was going to protest, Aphrodite stomped on his foot, grinding the heel of her stiletto into Ares' boot, making a noticeable dent. The god winced and bit his tongue with a loud clack.

When all of the other gods were done, Zeus cleared his throat loudly.

"Let this meeting ad—"

The door burst open, and all the immortals could feel was a streak of displaced wind before a massive grey wolf pounced on the King of the Gods, claws ripping at his armor.

"Lupa!" Artemis shouted, jumping up from her throne, arrows in hand. "Calm yourself!"

_'You knew!'_ the wolf howled, her fangs jutting out from her snarling lips. _'He is back and you pretend nothing has happened!'_

"Thesis!" Hera barked, her form exploding into light, subsiding into that of Juno.

Lupa was caught unawares by the name and froze, her intelligent eyes widening in surprise. Artemis, changing into Diana, commanded as soothingly as she could, trying to work her wild magic on the angered wolf goddess.

_"Who_ is back, Lupa?" she asked softly. "We do not know anything."

Lupa's anger rushed out, leaving her tired and worn, her entire body drooping with exhaustion.

_'Zeus knows,' _she hissed, but there was no venom left in her voice._ 'I warned him, eons ago, not to defy those more powerful than he can even begin to imagine, but he would not listen to my advice. Now, all of Olympus will pay the price.'_

Apollo sat up a little straighter. He didn't noticed that his earphones had slipped out of their place and were hanging loosely from his neck.

"Who is it, Lupa?" he said urgently. The goddess shook her head.

_'One of the Old Ones.'_

It was Athena who understood and it was she who sucked in a harsh breath, breaking the stony silence. "A _Primordial?"_ she demanded. "Father, how could you be so _stupid!"_

"Wait, wait, hold up a sec," Ares grumbled. "What are you runts _blathering_ about? A Primordial? What the Hades is that?"

Athena's grey eyes were stormy and calculating, as though her brain was running on overdrive. "When Chaos created the world, he formed it with different elements. But even _he_ was not powerful enough to completely control them, since they were sentient and had a mind of their own. They broke off pieces of themselves, augmenting their power and taking on a human form. They were known as the Primordials."

Ares shrugged, reclining in his chair and propping his booted feet up. "So?" he drawled. "They're just elements that look human. They can't possibly exceed our own power. We could take them on, no problem."

"Fool!" Athena hissed, glancing around like she fully expected something to smite Ares into a puddle of godly goo. "They can draw power directly from their domain, something we are not refined enough to do. Any one of them, even the weaker ones, would be able to equally match or best at least two of us at the same time."

The council was silent.

_'It is true,'_ Lupa's ears twitched._ 'But you have forgotten that not only do they have enough raw power to level out the entire Earth, their reflexes and intelligence is much higher than ours. I have no doubt we would not stand a chance, should they try and end us.'_

"Huh," Ares snorted, rolling his eyes at his fellow gods' antics. "I bet _I_ could take on one of them and win. Dunno 'bout the rest of you weaklings, though."

Athena opened her mouth again, no doubt to beat Ares to the ground with her razor sharp tongue and even deadlier wit, but she was distracted when Hestia gave a most uncharacteristic cry.

Immediately, all conversations ceased.

Hestia was a gentle goddess, filled with compassion and warmth. Despite the Olympians' many rivalries and disagreements, they all had a soft spot in their hearts for her. She represented the good that was buried in their hearts. To hear her utter such a strangled sound made the others leap to their feet, ready to defend her from whatever had hurt her so.

The goddess of the Hearth had collapsed to her knees, her hands scrabbling helplessly at the Iris Message starting to form in the center of the hearth, undisrupted by the dying flames.

What the gods had taken to be a corpse slowly opened its eyes. Dark black, half dead eyes stared blankly into the message. A trickle of ichor stained the entire left side of his face golden, which shone black in the light.

A helm and a Stygian Ice sword was gripped in one slackened hand.

_"T—Ta-artarus... Gaea—"_

Whatever the god had been trying to tell them was cut off when a pale hand gripped him by the hair, hauling him up and forcing his neck to remain painfully exposed. Hades growled weakly, trying to defend himself from the unseen attacker, but his wrists and ankles were restrained by an invisible force.

Slender fingers wrapped around the god's chin, forcing his face upward to catch the light.

The Olympians hissed in a collective breath at the sight of Hades looking so... defeated. While many may loathe to admit it, there was a reason why he was known as one of the Big Three.

"Oh, _darling—"_ the shadowed figure murmured, tracing a taloned finger deceptively gently against his cheek, smoothing away the dust and ichor. "I _told_ you to submit and no _harm_ would come to you..."

Hades said nothing, his mouth gritted in a stoic expression.

"It's of no use," the man beside the woman said, lazily flicking a massive broadsword around one finger. "The gods are stubborn. Headstrong. You would do better trying to persuade a mountain to move than one of them."

"Perhaps you are right," the woman finally said, releasing the death god, allowing him to collapse at her feet, breathing shallow, hitching breaths. "I—"

She caught the tell-tale shimmers of the Iris Message. The man hissed out a curse.

_"So..."_ she muttered. "It seems like I've underestimated little Hades. _Hello,_ Olympians. It's been a while."

"Who are you?" Athena demanded, her eyes flaring. "How _dare_ you attack one of ours?"

The woman scoffed in disdain. "One of _yours?"_ she repeated. "He has _never_ been one of yours. Why else would you keep him away from Olympus and abandon him to _rot_ in the Underworld?"

"We have not—" Zeus began angrily.

"Ah, yes, his domain is here," she continued, as though Zeus had never spoken. "But Hephaestus strays from the forge. Poseidon leaves the ocean. Apollo is not constantly herding the sun. _No,_ Hades is the only god trapped by his own, and you have no right to insinuate any different."

"You are treading on thin ground," Zeus warned, his infamous temper starting to rear its head. The woman only laughed, an ugly, murky sound, like the gurgling of quicksand before it pulls you under.

"It is impossible for me to walk on thin ground." She moved into the light, flinging her hood back with careless abandon. Zeus' eyes widened as she bared her fang-like teeth in a smile. "After all, I _am_ the earth itself."

"You!" Poseidon snarled, his attention finally diverted to Gaea. "You're supposed to be asleep in Tartarus!"

The man stepped forward, allowing the sea god his first proper look at him. Thin and gaunt, his ragged, unkempt hair brushed the edges of his chin. Once upon a time, there was no doubt he was very handsome, but insanity had ravaged his face and left his eyes resembling that of a madman's.

"Now why would I _do_ that?"

Lupa drew back, her ears flattening to her skull. _'Tartarus, you fool!'_ she howled.

Surprised, the man faltered, his luminescent eyes resting on the wolf. Abruptly, he began to laugh, revealing gleaming white teeth—a snake's venomous smile. The sound was maniac.

"Thesis!" he bellowed. "I see Chaos has not relented in his punishment, nor has Order rectified it. Fool that you are, hiding away among the gods like a coward."

Lupa growled low in her throat, her eyes angry and cold._ 'I am no coward, traitor.'_

The man —Tartarus— smirked maliciously at the visibly trembling goddess, turning back to Gaea with a petulant look on his ragged face.

"We ought to go, darling," he said, sibilant. "Throw the god into my Pit. The others will not be able to find them there."

"Very well, Tartarus," Gaea murmured. Turning back to the silenced gods, she smiled viciously. "And for you, my dear grandchildren... you will soon be where you belong. Get ready to die."

The message was torn into mist with a shriek of air.

_"There will be no escape."_

* * *

><p>Pandemonium exploded. It could only be described as such.<p>

Zeus raised his Master Bolt, letting a streak of molten lightning erupt from the end, shaking the foundation of Olympus where it stood.

"Silence!" he thundered. The other gods continued to bicker over his attempts to silence them.

Poseidon scowled, slamming the butt of his trident on the ground two times. Shockwaves spread out from the impact point, knocking the thrones back a few inches. Gallons of seawater materialized from the ceiling, thoroughly drenching everything beneath it. Aphrodite shrieked when her makeup ran and plucked a crab from where it was attempting to crawl underneath her dress.

Athena turned back to Ares, who had a keen, bloodthirsty grin on his face in anticipation of war, despite being soaked to the bone.

"Still think you can take on a Primordial?" she asked acidly, watching his grin falter. "Gaea and Tartarus aren't even the most powerful ones, and it would be doubtful all of us combined could take them down."

_'No,'_ Lupa agreed. _'You would not be able to succeed. The only one who can successfully take down a Primordial is another Primordial. Of course, it would also be preferable if you were able to persuade Thanatos, seeing as Gaea has most likely opened the doors of Tartarus and as the lieutenant of Death, he would be the next best thing.'_

"Then why don't we do that?" Hermes asked, combing seaweed out of his salt-and-pepper hair. Lupa only shook her head in disgust.

_'Zeus has gained his ire. While Thanatos is not an immortal known to hold grudges, he is one who takes promises very seriously. Who do you think came up with the plan to make Kronos regurgitate his children? If it was_ only_ mustard and wine in that mixture, nothing would have happened. There were poisons mixed in with the drink, ones lost to time and to our knowledge. In return, Zeus promised not to have full power as King of the Gods; decisions must be run through by the Council and all of those affected by the change first. Any children of the gods would be claimed, instead of allowing them to be led into a fate of loneliness and regret and hatred.'_

"That was _all?"_ Athena said incredulously. "Most times, requesting the help of a Primordial requires some very drastic sacrifices. The soul of an immortal, for one."

Lupa gave a slight shrug. _'Per—ah, Thanatos-'_ no one noticed her slip of tongue, 'i_s not a vindictive Primordial, unlike Pontus or Tartarus. He prefers to stay in the shadows and maintain the precarious balance of the world, occasionally helping those he deems to be worthy.'_

"And how would you know all of this?" Demeter asked, absently changing the floral print of her dress to delphiniums _(bravery),_ lavender _(distrust),_ and back again.

Hesitating, Lupa glanced at Juno, who nodded encouragingly.

"It is best to get everything out now," the Queen said.

Lupa grimaced, but stared Demeter in the eye defiantly, daring her to make any accusations.

_'I am Thesis, Primordial of Redemption. Once upon a time, I lived among the most powerful deities of the world and was feared among the nations. But a heavy mistake cost me, and Chaos cast me from the dimension, where I landed on earth. I am trapped in this form until one of them relinquishes the illusion's hold on me.'_

"You are... one of _them?"_ Diana uttered in pure disbelief. "Then by theory, you should be older than even Zeus, and even stronger."

Ignoring the King of the God's spluttered protests, Lupa only shook her head._ 'Perhaps I was, once upon a time, but most of my strength has been locked away, and I doubt much of it actually remains. No, it is not to I who you should be asking for advice. It is to the others, the ones that I have long left behind.'_

"How would we be able to contact them?" Hermes asked curiously, his knowledge of roads and travel sparking his interest.

Lupa gave them a wolfish grin._ 'I was_ thrown _off,'_ she reminded them dryly. _'But I think it would work in the same way as Hermes' mail service and Iris' messages. If they were to collaborate with Athena on the matter, I believe they would be able to come up with a temporary solution before time runs out.'_

A quick glance around showed that said gods were willing and infinitely intrigued by the possibility of inter-dimensional travel.

"Very well," Athena conceded. "But one last thing; what did you do to be punished so harshly?"

Lupa _—Thesis—_ was silent for a long time.

_'Chaos had a... a son, one he had with the mage Lamia. She was of unsurpassed beauty, and with her voice, she was able to charm anyone to do anything with no possibility to throw off her enchantment. It was called Lamia's Curse, for she passed it on to her eldest son.'_

Aphrodite cocked her head. "That sounds like my charmspeak."

_'Yes,'_ Lupa agreed. _'If your charmspeak could boil blood and rupture organs, then yes, it would be exactly like your charmspeak.'_

Aphrodite turned green at the thought.

_'I was assigned to watch over his son, for Chaos could not be known to have an illegitimate heir, especially not one with a Mage, who were considered non human, the equivalent of monsters to us. Despite my best attempts, I was forced into submission while a group of masked deities killed the boy's mother as he was forced to watch."_

Hera frowned. Despite never having met the child before, she could not help but feel pity for him. Such ravaging did not go without scars.

_'He killed them all, except for one, who escaped before he could comprehend what he had just done. The boy disappeared the day after, most likely dead or condemned into a fate worse than death. A few months later, the remaining survivor was killed, but not by the boy. __Nothing has been heard from him since.'_

"I like this kid!" Ares bellowed, ignoring Aphrodite's scowl and sharp jab to his ribs.

_'In his anger and grief, Chaos threw me from the world. I am unsure of what happened next.'_

"That's quite a story—"

"No haikus!" Artemis interrupted, bashing Apollo on the head with her bow. The sun god scowled.

"I wasn't going to!" he protested. "I just wanted to ask how old he was when all of this happened. You know, because knowing all of the super powerful Primordials, he might have still been in diapers."

Lupa's nose twitched in amusement._ 'He was very young, but old enough to be a mercenary. Chaos never found it necessary to tell me his exact age. It does not matter now.'_

Athena got to her feet. "While it has been most enjoyable to talk aimlessly, we must hurry if we are to find a means of travel before Gaea attacks. Father, it would be wise to inform the camps about the dangers, so that they are able to prepare themselves."

Zeus gave a short jerk of his head, relieved that the conversation had turned towards less precarious subjects. "Hermes will inform Chiron about all we have discussed, while Lupa shall bring the news back to her own camp. Is this agreeable? Yes? Fine. This meeting is adjourned."

* * *

><p>-<em>X<em>-

* * *

><p>"What do you think this is about?"<p>

Reyna glanced over at Jason, the sunlight streaming in from the window painting his hair a beautiful golden color. Tearing her eyes away, she stared stoically at a point in the distance without really seeing it, gathering her composure.

"I'm not sure," she said, omitting the fact that it may very well have something to do with Thanatos. Meeting his eyes, she debated telling him —they were both praetors, and it would do well for him to know the same information— but she was saved from having to make the decision when Lupa stalked in, her tail curling around her legs, looking decidedly more composed than the last time Reyna had seen her.

_'Praetors,'_ she growled. They stood up, bowing respectfully to the Mother of Rome, who inclined her head in return.

Jason glanced at Reyna, and when he noticed that she wasn't going to say anything, he opened his mouth. "Lupa, what is going on? Is the camp in trouble?"

Lupa did not answer the question.

_'You may wish to sit down,'_ her nose twitched out. The two Romans looked nervously at each other before complying, sweeping their purple capes out so they would not sit on it.

_'There is no way to soften the news, so I shall reiterate it bluntly. Terra has awaken from her slumber, and has enlisted the help of Tartarus."_

"As in the _Pit_?"

_'Correct. Tartarus is a Primordial, as is Terra, so it is highly unlikely that the gods will be be able to conquer them without help. Mercury, Arcus, and Minerva are working on a possibility of finding a mode of travel that will allow them to possibly enlist some allies. Soon, the gods will be issuing a quest to explore the new dimension and to persuade any Old Ones you come across for aid.'_

Jason leaned back in his throne, suitably flabbergasted. Reyna remained perched on the edge of her seat, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"And what will our task be?"

Lupa's ear flicked._ 'You will lead part of the quest, while Jason will stay behind to maintain order in the Camp.'_

"Is that wise?" Jason asked. "Splitting us up like that, I mean. Especially in a time like this, wouldn't it be better if we both stayed or both went?"

_'Under normal circumstances, that would be correct. However, while Terra poses a very real threat, one of you should be enough to satisfy the needs of the camp. Reyna, you shall be taking a group of demigods with you when the time comes. I would suggest using this time to evaluate the skill sets of those in the camp and be prepared.'_

Reyna stood and bowed, Jason quickly doing the same.

"I will, Lupa. Is there anything else?"

_'No. You are dismissed.'_

They left.

* * *

><p>As Reyna walked into the sunlight outside, trailing behind Jason, she couldn't help but wonder why a cold thrill went down her spine, as though she'd just signed her death sentence.<p> 


	12. Raidho (Endless)

**Warning** — I have only read the original PJO series and The Lost Hero, so whatever information I have on the Roman Camp is from the internet. If the characters don't play out like you would expect, that is why.

**Review Replies ****—** _**Perseus Pax:**_ thank you! I'll admit Chaos stories always intrigued me, and they would have been my favourite if most of them weren't so cliche'd and static. Chaos was _poetically_ described as a woman, but by Hesiod's Theogony or any of his predecessors, his/her gender was not stated. _**jacksonpotterridefan101:**_ it would be pretty cool, but I'm trying my best not to make the characters overpowered. **_Leftover Meal:_** well, I hope you'll get some extra time soon! You have a very good plot. _**PjandLGequalsLove:**_ thank you, I'll do my best! _**SpartanWarrior177:**_ I'm glad you think this is original! Percy was just creating a false identity when he called himself the Primordial of the Endless. Technically, as Thanatos, he is actually the Primordial of Endless, but as Erebus, he was the Primordial of Darkness. And it honestly is quite frustrating to see so many good Chaos fics ruined by those elements, where Percy is betrayed with no explanation and the characters are all incredibly static. Then he becomes super-powered without any character development. I saw one Chaos story where he gained a massive harem of goddesses, with Artemis in the lead. I think I died a little inside, and not in the good way. _**FiftyPoet:**_ I'm quite surprised by how many people are interested with a Percy/Death pairing. Thank you for your input! _**Deathmatch Drunkard:** _I'll admit Reyna first piqued my interest when she was talking to Percy about how praetors often become romantically involved with each other. I know she meant Jason, but my muse wouldn't shut up, and quite frankly, the possibilities intrigued me. I'm afraid Richard won't be redeemed. He will be thoroughly and completely humiliated (read: destroyed). _**prince of the seas:**_ thank you! :) **_WideOpenSpacesGirl045:_** Yes! Percy and Reyna will get together (eventually), and it will be pretty epic. And Richard? Well, he's going to wallow in the shadows, feeling utterly and completely jealous (evil smile) _**lol:**_ I'm glad you've enjoyed it. _**aesir21:**_ I know I'm not the best at making things fit in cohesive sense, but I'm glad it's finally starting to smooth out. I hope this chapter does not dissapoint. _**Guest:**_ honestly, if I were Annabeth, I would want to make up for everything I've done, be it intentional or not. At least it's better than saying Annabeth just randomly decided to ditch Percy for no formulatable reason. _**Zeus795:**_ thank you! I hope this chapter lives up to your compliments :) _**Guest:**_ No, Percy is Erebus. Erebus was first, and when he was killed, Death reincarnated him as Percy. He does have Erebus' memories though. You are correct about Thesis, but she doesn't know that it was modern Greek Percy that was Thanatos. Lupa knows the gods won't treat the situation correctly, so she withheld the Reyna's information. The Primordials thought Perseus (Primordial) was the Primordial of Darkness, since it was really Erebus under a different name. The others didn't know of his heritage as a son of Chaos, nor did they know that Chaos even _had_ another son. The way Nyx referred to him as a "brother" was more of a surrogate brother, but she doesn't actually know that they are related. _**Guest:**_ Yes, you have it :)

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>"It's only a matter of time before you lose your control on me. And when you do..."<em>

**Chapter VII**  
><strong><em>Raidho<em>  
><strong>↨≥

_Rune for endless, pathways, justice._

* * *

><p><strong>Olympus, Empire State Building, 600th Floor<strong>

"Hermes, you need to take a break. You haven't slept in two months."

The god in question smiled wearily, his eyes ringed with fatigue. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck up and was flattened on one side, and try as he might to conceal the fact, it was quite obvious he had fallen asleep against one of the many heavy tomes sitting innocently on the creaking wooden table.

With the dark circles under his eyes, he looked more raccoon than god, which was both amusing for Athena and slightly exasperating. _Men_ could be so stubborn at times.

"You're one to talk, Athena," he said warmly, but his words was strained. His fingers were stained with the ink from the thousands of books he had poured over, trying to find salvation in the form of words. Athena swept out her clothing and sat across from him, her hands interlaced. The firelight cast grotesque shadows on her face, sharpening it to points.

"I normally don't sleep. I've built up a resistance to it. You, on the other hand—"

"I'm _fine,"_ Hermes interrupted, a slight edge sharpening his voice. At Athena's incredulous _you-can't-fool-me_ glare, he sighed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.

A tinkling voice chimed in, light and airy. "Don't you think Athena and me can handle it by ourselves, Hermes?"

"Athena and _I_," the goddess corrected absently, her eyes flicking over to the pixie-like immortal with a disapproving look on her face. Iris waved aside her corrections with a slender hand, her rainbow wings fluttering.

"Yes, yes, _that._ But my points stands. We can handle ourselves. You've done more than enough. Go get some sleep, or do I have to drag Hypnos down here as well?"

"I don't—"

Hermes' feeble protests were left unheard as the two goddesses practically shoved him out of the library, barricading the doors. The doors did not give under his protesting shouts and after a few minutes, he slumped against the wall, drained of energy. Stumbling to a nearby chair, he collapsed into its worn leather seat with a grateful sigh.

_Perhaps I'll just rest for a bit..._

* * *

><p><strong>Ordis, road to Order's Castle<strong>

Sometimes, the person to fear most was the one on the other side of the mirror, staring back with haunted eyes.

Percy's reflection was distorted only by the twisting and slithering ropes of water cascading down the river. His eyes —one an ugly, gaudy red— were no longer his, no longer the sea green he had grown accustomed to. And for some inexplicable reason, he felt... well, he wasn't quite sure _what_ he felt. His emotions were a hard knot in his chest, constricting his body and making it hard to breathe.

Because this wasn't him.

This wasn't the kind, cheerful demigod that was headstrong and loyal to a fault. This wasn't the son of Poseidon that could see the good in everyone without a dark thought in his head.

He no longer had the comfort to be so innocent and _whole._

This was no longer _him._ Erebus was the one staring back. The Primordial that was ruthlessly good at fighting, the one who suppressed all of his emotions to make himself the perfect soldier. The cold, apathetic immortal that would not hesitate to kill, would not hesitate to spill blood.

Tracing the thin white line that cut across the base of his neck, Percy winced. It wasn't one of _his_ scars. Not the _demigod_ Percy's. A constant reminder that his life wasn't all his own.

It was barely visible, and could not be seen unless you were looking specifically for it. But soon, Percy knew the scars would darken until it was almost impossible to miss.

Indeed, it like someone had tried —unsuccessfully— to take his head off.

It was one of Erebus', from one of the many failed assassination attempts on his life. Imperceptible and jagged, it curved around one side of his neck and traced its way to his collarbone, disappearing under his tunic.

Somehow, when their memories started to merge, their personalities and battle scars had too. Looking at the poison wound on his hand _—Luke's_ doing, his mind reminded him viciously— he noticed it was faded and pale, though the mark would never truly disappear. A part of him didn't really want it to.

While normally Percy would not have cared —he had his fair share of battle scars, after all— there proved to be a slight problem. Nyx and Aether would no doubt recognize them, and while he knew his identity would get out eventually, some part of him resiliently hoped it never would.

Surreptitiously pulling the collar of his clothing up higher, feeling unconsciously wary, Percy made his way back to the camp. Order's castle was not far ahead, and Percy could make out its dark blot on the crest of a large mountain, jutting stubbornly into the sky.

Still, there was an unspoken agreement between the three of them to delay the inevitable for just a while longer, for they all knew this was to their last peaceful moments in the foreseeable future.

"How are we faring for provisions?" Aether muttered to Nyx. Percy entered their little clearing and sat down heavily, leaning against the trunk of an age old tree. The air smelled of decaying leaves and wet grass, though it wasn't unpleasant.

He tuned the rest of their conversation out, knowing that it was no more than mindless chatter, its only purpose to fill the gaping silence that had emerged.

Percy thought about the girl yesterday. The spirit. At the mention of the gods —for there was no mistaking who she was, and where she was from— anger had welled up in his gut, a deep loathing that had yet to fade away in the year or so since he had been rescued by Death.

It had blinded him, and he had given into the animalistic feelings of bitter hatred. It was wrong of him to take out his anger on someone who could not be held accountable, but he hadn't been thinking properly then.

"Endless?"

Percy jerked, his head snapping up so fast it was a miracle he didn't give himself whiplash. Nyx's crimson eyes met his.

"Yes?" he replied tersely.

They had an odd way of addressing each other, Percy thought. Primordials were referred to with their dominion's name. It was a little bit like a last name on Earth.

After another moment of scrutiny, Nyx turned away with a heavy frown.

"Nothing," she muttered. "Or maybe it's nothing. Have we met before? Before this, I mean. You seem familiar in more ways than one."

Was it possible Nyx and Aether could remember their identities as Thalia and Nico? If they passed in the same way Percy had, the memories of their time on earth should be intact.

Only it wasn't so. Nothing in his life was ever so linear and _simple. _Fate has a way of screwing him over and over just for its own entertainment. Percy briefly wondered what he had done in a past life to have gained such bad luck, but thinking about his previous existence as Erebus, he decided he didn't want to know.

The sharp sound of a cleared throat threw Percy's mental conversation off track. Looking up, he noticed that they were still expecting an answer.

Aether had put down the pieces of flint he was attempting to start a fire with and his attention was fixed unreservedly on Percy. Their gazes were unnerving focused. He picked his words carefully, daring either of them to interrupt his thoughts.

"How we've met? Perhaps we have. I _am_ the Primordial of the Endless. My domain rests on things that will last for all of eternity, and for that I am even harder to kill."

"No," insisted Aether with an adamant expression. "I know what she means. It's almost as if we've met before... a long ago or in a dream..."

"Like I said," Percy flicked his fingers, and the stack of meticulously arranged firewood burst into an array of dark flames. Aether jumped back with a sharp yell, tumbling off his perch, "I am very hard to kill, and by no means defenceless. I belonged in Chaos' armies for a short while."

There. That would explain for any censored material he might accidentally blurt out.

Satisfied, Percy looked up, only to meet Nyx's eyes, who was staring at him as though he had just committed blasphemy.

"That's not something people usually admit," she said quietly. "There's nothing wrong with it, of course, but Chaos had led the nation to ruin. Order was the one forced to inherit his mistakes and rectify them."

Was that what everyone thought?

"I see," Percy said through his rising ire, though it was very clear he saw nothing of the sort. Standing up abruptly, he bit out, "if you'll _excuse_ me, I think I shall retire for the night."

He left without waiting for an answer, leaving the others to stare after him in bemusement.

They weren't left to wonder where he had gone for very long, because a tree in the distance exploded in an eruption of ashes and flames, mushroom clouding into the sky, the smoke briefly blotting out the stars.

"Did we say something wrong?" Aether's brow was wrinkled, the flickering hellfire reflected in his eyes making it appear a coal black.

Nyx's attention never left the spot Percy had disappeared into, a trail of burned leaves marking his path. Tearing her gaze away, she turned to Aether with a serious expression.

"I think perhaps him and F—and Chaos were friends and allies. He seems to know quite a bit more than one would expect, especially with his being out-of-date with the current information."

Aether's expression turned serious. "You think he is a spy then?"

Nyx shook her head, thick, dark curls edging in front of her face. She brushed them aside impatiently.

"No, I don't think he's lying," she said, though her tone hinted at something unknown. "And it is almost impossible to imitate another Primordial to another Primordial. You know that. You are the one that has met him before, after all. He did save your life."

"I know." Aether hesitated, absently rubbing the back of his arm as though it pained him. "But ever since we've encountered Thanatos, I've been getting... visions. The people speak in another language, and it does not seem like they come from our dimension."

Nyx's frown deepened, cutting sharp lines into her otherwise youthful face.

"I have too. Mine speaks to me in a time of war. I only hope it isn't premonition for the future."

The rest of the night was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

* * *

><p><strong>Olympus, Empire State Building, 600th Floor<strong>

"We have come up with a method for inter-dimensional travel."

Athena's voice rang out in the open silence. The three immortals stood side by side, tired but proud of their accomplishment. Iris' golden wings fluttered gently, catching the light and casting fractured rainbows over the throne room.

"The demigods should be able to leave in one week's time."

* * *

><p><strong>Ordis, outskirts of the Capital<strong>

Nyx came to relieve Erebus from his night watch, but when she finally blinked the sleepiness from her eyes, she could not make him out. Even though it was midnight, the time of day when she was strongest, he was able to evade her.

And for a few horrible seconds, she thought that her words last night had made the older Primordial desert them.

"Endless!" she hissed in as loud a voice as she dared. Beside her, Aether mumbled something incoherent, shuffling onto his stomach with a particularly loud snore.

"Night."

His quiet voice made her flinch. Gaining her shaky heartbeat and breathing under control, she turned to face him.

"Where are you?" she whispered, mostly curious now instead of worried.

Heterochromatic eyes, framed in darkness, stood out vividly from its surroundings. Erebus literally seemed to come out of a tree trunk, the shadows rippling as they stretched to accommodate his body. His smile was slight, only a hint of amusement ghosting across his face. Nyx scowled and crossed her arms.

"You..."

"Don't worry. Most people have trouble finding me, even after I've revealed myself."

"I'll say. You should have woken me up," she checked the position of the moon, tilting her head up to take in the night sky, "two hours ago."

Erebus shrugged lightly, but Nyx could make out the tension present in his shoulders, stealing his usual grace.

"I don't sleep," he said.

Nyx knew she shouldn't pry —after all, of he wanted her to know, he would have told— but she needed to unravel the mystery that he was. Something about him drew her inexplicably close, like magnetism.

Or maybe she was just trying to make up excuses for her nosy behavior.

"Nightmares?" she asked.

Erebus' hands surreptitiously clenched under his loose sleeves, though his voice remained light and amiable. His eyes had lost their grip on the world, almost as if something in them shattered into pieces and his true insanity was shining through.

"Bad memories. Nothing more."

But then the moment passed and Nyx took it to be a trick of the light. She bit her tongue, forcing back the interrogative words trying to force themselves out.

"Are you... alright?"

His smile was amused, but there was a dead humor behind his fractured verdant gaze.

"Alright?" he echoed. "You mean to ask if I am sane."

It wasn't a question. Nyx flushed.

"Well," she fumbled for words, cursing her sudden inability to speak in coherent sentences. "It must be a big change, being frozen in time for eons and all."

"My mind is reasonably sound, I assure you."

Nyx could hear the _'mostly'_ that lingered, unspoken. Deciding that it would be better to tread on safer grounds, she quickly changed the subject.

"Even if you prefer not to sleep, I'll take up the watch from here. Aether's too much of a slob to be of much use as a sentry, but it's almost sunrise anyways."

Erebus seemed like he was going to protest, but he acquiesced quietly and sunk back into the shadows. Nyx squinted at the place he had last been, using her night to probe the area, but found no trace that he had _ever_ been there.

A little bit unsettled, Nyx slumped by a nearby tree trunk, feeling as though eyes were scrutinizing her—dissecting her every move. She palmed the shaft of her spear, the reassuring weight of her weapon easing her adrenaline-boosted nerves. She began to count the seconds until her shift was over, just to give her mind something to do.

She was well into the hundred thousands when the sun finally rose, casting soft rosy light over the damp forest, illuminating the paths and making their campsite look much less foreboding.

Getting up from her slouched position, she stretched like a cat, working the kinks out of her stiff and cold body. Noiselessly padding over to Aether's sprawled form, tangled in a shipwreck of blankets, she gave his ribs a merciless kick.

"Wake up, you lazy pig. Get up. No, I don't mean just to roll over. We have to be on our way."

Aether yelped, though later on he would adamantly insist it was a manly shout. His eyes flared open, hand automatically bolting for a weapon. Nyx stopped the moment with the butt of her spear. He sat up, blearily shoving the blankets away along with Nyx's foot, and shivered when the cold air came in contact with his skin.

"Why is it always so damn cold?" he grumbled, rubbing his arms in a failed attempt to get the blood flowing again.

Nyx scowled.

"You can't even complain. You weren't up for watch duty at all. Now get your ass out of bed before I do it for you."

"Okay, okay fine, I'm up, mother, I'm up." Aether raised his arms in a mock defensive gesture, and Nyx rolled her eyes good naturedly. Turning back to the barely glimmering coals in the campfire, she poked it with a stick, coaxing the embers to eat away at the leafy greens and young woods she had piled in front of it.

With the provisions in the packs, she made enough soup to feed a thousand armies, or perhaps just Aether alone.

She had just finished doling it out into small bowls when Erebus appeared out of nowhere, his words short and clipped.

"Nyx. Aether. We have to move."

Aether yelped for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. "Where did you come from?"

Erebus glanced over his shoulder, like someone was chasing him and was catching up. The dark shadows under his eyes were more prominent than the night before, and Nyx felt a brief stab of reasonless guilt.

"Just now. They're coming. We need to go. _Immediately."_

Hearing the sharp edge of warning in Erebus' voice, Nyx said quickly, "Aether. We'll ask questions on the way. Pack up your things and get your horse."

Aether opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Nyx silenced him.

"Fine," he said sullenly.

Erebus looked relieved. He looked like he was going to speak, but a sudden frown darkened his features with alarm.

It was too late.

A harsh screech bit through the air. Erebus' head jerked up, and even though Nyx couldn't see his expression through the shadows, he looked apprehensive.

From the corner of her eye, she only saw a blur of black volley for the distracted Primordial, but before she could shout a warning, he had already moved.

Sharp nails —so sharp the edges seemed blue— flashed in the rising sun, and Erebus just barely dodged it before it cleaved for his head. Dirt was sent flying, deep marks gouging the place he would have been if he hadn't moved fast enough.

The attackers were humanoid, lithe and fast. Dark silver hair whipped in a halo around their pale features, masking the whitened eyes and sliver streaks slashing across their cheeks.

"Voidlings!" Nyx cried to Aether, drawing her spear and knife. And just in time; she parried away the second voidling with the shaft of her spear, shocking it with electricity before kicking it in its armored chest.

It was like kicking a brick wall.

She winced as her ankle throbbed, but her opponent had taken the brunt of the damage. Its ribcage was caved in and it wheezed for breath, trying to draw oxygen into its deprived lungs.

Her aim was true and strong. It impaled itself in the monster's throat, granting it a swift end. Yanking the weapon out as she passed, Nyx dove back into the battle, slashing and hacking with wild but graceful movements.

She made the mistake of glancing around for Erebus. The Primordial was nowhere in sight. The only thing she could see in the sea of silver hair and crazed eyes was Aether, and that only because of his ridiculously red cloak. Concern welled in in her chest, but she pushed down the thought as soon as it had come.

Erebus was strong. He could take care of himself.

Aether was laughing beside her. He had gone berserk, a mad grin on his face as he whirled his massive swordstaves around him, cutting a swath in the enemy's lines.

It _would_ have been an impressive sight had Nyx not known he was showing off.

"Having fun?" she shouted as their paths met. Their backs were pressed together, both fighting to protect themselves and each other.

"Haven't had this much since Ophion finally got that barbed stick out of his ass," he yelled back, his words punctuated by grunts of effort.

There was no more time for talk.

Aether didn't notice the bone spear that erupted from the ground, impaling one of the voidlings, but Nyx did. He must have summoned it subconsciously. In a way, she supposed it was like her sudden affinity with wind and lightning. But she wasn't complaining.

They kept coming, waves upon waves of their forces pouring in all around them. Neither of them were in the least bit winded, having had millennia to train their bodies and minds.

But even they were becoming hard pressed to keep all of their claws diverted. For every one they took down, two took its place, until their massive bulk completely blotted out the sun and they were thrown into darkness.

And just as suddenly, they were gone. Retreating.

_Fleeing._

Aether made to pursue them, but Nyx held him back with a hand gripping his elbow.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Our mission is not to hunt them down. And for all we know, it might be a trap. At any rate, we should be..."

Nyx's voice trailed off and her eyes widened in a sudden revelation. She spun on her heel, her head whipping from side to side, fingers outstretched, and Aether could tell she was concentrating hard. Aether scowled in displeasure, finally moving his hand away from his sheathed swordstaves.

"—where's Endless?" she realized, alarmed.

"He'll be fine," said Aether, waving his hand on a dismissive gesture. "He's a _Primordial."_

Nyx was starting to move around the clearing now, feverishly scanning the area for any sign of their misplaced comrade.

"Yes, one that hasn't seen action for _seventeen thousand years_." Worry made her voice come out more harshly than expected. "Order will not be pleased if we lose him."

Nyx's gaze fell on a section of forest that looked like it had been fried, dosed with water, then promptly electrified. The sun glistened on the leaves, still coated with morning dew.

"There," she said, already beginning to walk briskly—she couldn't run, couldn't chase after him like a wayward puppy— towards the site.

A million different scenarios ran through her head, but nothing could have prepared her for the scene that lay outstretched before her. The few minutes it took to reach the spot stretched out until Nyx was sure someone was manipulating the time, pulling it back.

Then she was pushing out of the brambles and tangled trees, sweeping aside the last branches to come across the makeshift clearing. The shine on the leaves wasn't dew, as she had previously thought, but blood that turned a sickly sulphur yellow, making the entire area look as though it had been turned to gold.

Like a statue, Erebus stood in the centre of the battleground, his head down. He wasn't moving, and Nyx couldn't even see him breathe, couldn't see his chest rise and fall with life.

Then his eyes flicked upwards, and she could see the pained expression that he tried to hide.

At his feet was a voidling, bigger than any either of them had ever seen, the size of an elephant, crowned with a wreath of bloody thorns jutting out from the peak of the monster's head. It was a dark gold, with large, bulging eyes that snarled ferocity, even in death. The alpha of the pack, most likely.

But that wasn't what caught Nyx's attention.

From its nose to its tail, the voidling was mauled into pieces, the internal organs of the non-human visible from the ragged belly, still oozing thickly. It looked as though something had ripped it apart from the inside out.

Nyx's mouth was suddenly dry. It was Aether who spoke.

"What happened?"

At the question, something in Erebus' eyes seemed to snap back into piece, as though a missing piece of his puzzle had been shoved forcibly back into place.

"What does it look like happened?" he asked, his voice dripping with cynicism. "I invited her over for _tea._ Then we had a disagreement, so I made her blood boil and ruptured all of her organs."

The words were bland and listless, and it took Nyx a few minutes to figure out that it was only sarcasm (or at least, she hoped it was).

Aether's infamous temper started to flare at the brusque tone of voice, but curiosity beat it to submission. He had a serious look on his face, though Nyx almost face faulted at his question.

"What is this... _tee,_ you speak of?"

...trust Aether to have his priorities straight.

Erebus opened his mouth to explain, but thought better of it and brushed them off with a quiet, "Never mind. We ought to be going."

Before either could retaliate, he had clasped his hands in a few quick gestures (runic symbols? it was too fast for her to decipher), before disappearing in a flash of hellfire. A few singed leaves swirled around the vortex, before being sucked in and incinerated, the ashes drifting down in a fine dust.

Aether and Nyx scrambled to follow him under more mundane means.

* * *

><p>"What were those things?"<p>

Nyx's gaze shifted from the reins gripped tightly in her hands to see Erebus' eyes fixed on a distant point in front of him. She got the feeling he wasn't really seeing her. His voice was inquisitive, but it was also dead.

"Non-humans," she said shortly.

"They seemed to come directly from the ground beneath us."

"That's because they do. Non-humans don't come from the same dimension. Actually, they don't belong in a dimension at all. You should know about this, correct? Didn't they exist millennia ago?"

"Yes," he clarified. "But no one knew the specifics. They were hated, but for what reason, it was unknown."

Beside her, Aether shifted uncomfortably.

_"—when I grow up, I'm going to hunt down every last one of those monsters—"_

"They're, well," Nyx cleared her throat uncomfortably, "think of the world as a... as an onion, with every separate layer constantly spinning in a different direction. Each layer spins at a different speed, so each has a different time flow.

"Now imagine that the outermost layer is where we are now. Terra —the land of the mortals— is close to the very centre, and the time there is approximately twice as slow as ours. At the very core lies Tartarus' Pit, which was created after Tartarus was cast out of this dimension. That layer revolves so slowly that time all but stops. One could be there for thousands of years and find that only three or four in Olympian time has passed."

Erebus went suddenly stiff. His posture turned rigid. Nyx couldn't see his face, but she knew it was set in a blank, cold expression that could chill the bone of even the bloodthirstiest berserker.

"Endless?" she called. He did not answer, his body starting to list off the saddle dangerously, the reins slack in his unresponsive fingertips.

"Erebus!" she nudged her horse to the side of his sharply, reaching out to catch him before he could fall. "Are you ill?"

Her touch seemed to bring some clarity into his thoughts, for he jerked upright, maintaining his straight-backed posture once more. One of his hands went to his neck, tracing an unseen scar over and over and over. He didn't seem to realize what he was doing.

"Fine," he said shortly. He said something else under his breath that Nyx couldn't quite catch, but it triggered something primal inside of her. Voices nudged at the corners of her memory, desperate words trickling through the blurs of movement and colours.

_"—that's not possible. He can't be there. He can't be in Tartarus. You're lying, Nico... you're lying to me!"_

Blinking away the shrill screams, she refocused in time to hear Aether pick up the explanation where she left off. His face had twisted into an ugly expression.

"—but these onion layers aren't exactly perfectly fitted together. There are cracks between them, ones you could fall into and be lost forever if you're not careful. That's where the non-humans come from. It would be better to _die_ than be turned into one of them."

Erebus looked away.

"I see," he said quietly.

He was silent for the remained of the journey.

* * *

><p>"So you are Erebus. I have been expecting you."<p>

Percy raised his eyebrow, a little twitch of amusement quirking one side of his mouth. It reminded him sorely of the villains in those cheesy action movies and the rather ridiculously drawn out monologues they would give. Now all Order needed was a big black spinning chair to complete the image.

Giving a short, clipped bow, Percy replied, "Well met, Lord Order."

Order's straight eyebrows drew together at Percy's form of address. His face contorted in agony, and for a second, it almost seemed real.

"My subordinates have informed me about your being out-of-date with the times. My brother was... _poisoned,_ by one of his generals, and died before the doctors could find a cure. He rests in the royal graveyard. I have taken his place as ruler. Perhaps, if you wish, I may take you there sometime."

Percy bit the words back he ached to say, his hands clenching in anger behind his back. "I see," he said evenly. "I am sorry for your loss. Lord Chaos was a strong leader."

Order's face darkened for a fraction of a second, and if Percy wasn't watching specifically for it, he would have missed it altogether.

"Indeed. But onto more pressing matters. Nyx and Aether told me you wish to join my militia."

"They have convinced me it is for the best."

"Very good. Your aptitude test —only procedure, you understand. I have no doubt in your abilities— shall be held in the Abyss in half an hour's time. Nyx shall show you the place. Any questions?"

Percy dipped his head in a shallow bow, biting back the disgust that welled up in his throat at having to defer to such a corrupted deity. He turned on his heel, spinning around to follow Nyx, who waited for him at the door, leaning casually against the sill.

When they were out of earshot from the Throne Room and the only sound emanating through the hallway were their quiet footsteps, Nyx turned to Percy.

"Are you prepared, Endless?" she asked. Percy frowned a little.

"I doubt being incapacitated for seventeen thousand years does much to help one's fighting skills."

Nyx pressed her lips together, like she was trying to suppress a smile. Percy was suddenly struck by how much she resembled Thalia when her face wasn't frozen over with coldness. They both had the same resilient spark in their eyes.

"We're here."

Nyx slowed to a halt. Percy almost crashed face first into the wide bronze door. He quickly averted his gaze before she realized he was staring at him most unflatteringly.

"So why is this place called the Abyss?"

Nyx's evil smile did nothing to reassure Percy. "You'll see," was all she said, before she rapped her knuckles three times on the engraved surface, each knock echoing like there was nothing inside except open air.

Then the door disappeared and before Percy could wonder what just happened, a chasm opened underneath his feet and he fell.

It was like falling into Tartarus again. For a moment, what thin walls he had built around his insanity started to crumble. Eyes stared back at him from the shadows, pale, vaunting, dead eyes.

Blaming-haunting-accusing—

Hands gripped his shoulders, voices shouting things he could no longer hear over the rush of adrenaline in his ears. The world was a haze of red and black.

"Hello, little hero..."

Kronos' golden eyes were curved into a cold smile. His scythe swung methodically in his hands, the edge stained with too-familiar blood.

Percy's left eye burned.

In the next second, his hands were wrapped around someone's neck. He could feel life thrumming underneath his fingertips, and his grip tightened.

"Kindly remove the illusion," he hissed, hellfire starting to flicker around his feet in a swirl of darkness and power. "I do not like to relive my past, and if you do not, I will forcibly end it."

The woman's clasped hands separated, and Percy could breathe again. The haze cleared from his eyes, and he released the woman, who crumpled against the wall, choking and coughing.

Order's slitted eyes were narrowed in a mix of surprise and suspicion.

"If that was your idea of a test," Percy's voice was calm, thinly veiled disgust hidden beneath his words, "then you have made a grave mistake."

He started to stalk towards Order, his restraint lost. The memories of his imprisonment, which had been painstakingly pushed to the back of his mind, had resurfaced, breaking his self composure until he could focus on nothing else. The images started to blur together, and Percy couldn't tell what was real and what was conjured by his crazed imagination.

Order's black hair was paling, shifting to a golden color, and those slitted eyes were turning a dark amber. His smile was sadistic, and the scythe in his hands swung back and forth like a pendulum.

All around him, people were turning into the inmates of Tartarus, complete with their crazed eyes and clawed hands, reaching for him, trying to tear him apart... babbling mouths, frothing and shrieking...

"No..." Percy whispered, his eyes wild. He spun around, his hands shaking. He was supposed to have escaped. He was supposed to have _escaped._

But he hadn't. Even if physically he was no longer in Tartarus, a part of his mind had been ravaged irreparably. And try as he might to deny it, it had affected him more than he would like to admit.

A thousand years. A _thousand-fucking-years._

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands and glared at the open air, where he knew contained a one-way barrier, so that the spectators could see him (like a gladiator, fighting for other's sick, sick amusements). And as he slung his sword off his shoulder and crouched in a ready position, Percy bitterly reflected how he was always the center of someone else's entertainment.

His opponent charged, trying to catch him by surprise, but Percy already knew he was there. Try as he might, he could not hide in the darkness as well as someone who learned to do so out of necessity.

Letting the blow graze past one side of his head, Percy coated his left hand in a thin, invisible layer of hellfire, catching the blade and crushing it under his fingertips, heating the metal to unbearable temperatures. With his other hand, he formed a fist and let all of the anger and frustration out in a single violent motion, knocking his opponent out cold.

The fight lasted less than ten seconds.

Order leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, the captivated look on his face making Percy feel sick. He looked like a child who was just given an interesting new toy, one he couldn't wait to dissect.

"That was... most impressive," he murmured.

Percy narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth in an intimidating smile.

"Impressive? Oh, you haven't seen _anything_ yet. I'm just. getting. _started."_

* * *

><p>For every opponent he destroyed, Percy imagined it was Order he was ripping apart.<p>

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Camp Jupiter, California, Earth (Terra)<strong>

"Will you _stop_ that?"

Jason glanced up, his feet briefly stopping its agitated tapping, before his head dropped back down and the thudding continued. Reyna sighed in exasperation, mentally tallying the count to this being the fifth time she had tried to get Jason to quit fussing.

"Jason, you're not even the one _going._ I can take care of myself."

"I—I know," he muttered, still not looking at her. His hand came up, almost as if to grasp her shoulders or to touch her face, but it dropped back to his side limply.

Reyna's heart jolted, and she forced herself to get it back under control.

"I just... I'll worry," he finished lamely. Reyna laughed a bit, but it came out cracked and choked.

"Don't be, Grace," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder in an arrogant fashion. Although it made her feel silly, it brought a smile to Jason's face. But even that faint trace of happiness was wiped when Lupa padded in on noiseless paws, her large eyes shining with infinite wisdom.

_'It's time,'_ her nose twitched out.

Reyna exhaled slowly, gripping the armrests of her throne tighter before letting go, pushing herself up and off, perhaps for the last time.

She wasn't wearing her formal praetor clothing. It wouldn't exactly impress anyone, and it was hard to fight in. Instead, she wore armor laced with gold and silver, which was surprisingly light in comparison to all the protection it provided.

"Wait!" Jason jumped up too, and Reyna stopped to looked back at him, Lupa's head swivelling backwards as well.

"Could you give us... a moment, Lupa?"

Lupa pinned the both of them under a curt glare, before she turned on soundlessly and disappeared out the door into the sunlight outside.

"I..."

"Well?" Reyna rolled her eyes, crossing her arms by habit. "Spit it out, Jason. Don't give yourself an aneurysm."

The blonde praetor rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Can I... walk you outside?" he asked hesitatingly.

Reyna's eyebrows shot up, but she did her best to contain them. Smirking, she replied, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Lead the way, oh mighty son of Jupiter."

Glaring a bit crossly, Jason swept out of the throne room, his purple cloak fluttering in the wind. Shaking her head, Reyna followed, sheathing her gladius and resting her hand on the hilt, allowing the amiability she had with Jason to melt away, leaving nothing but a cold leader in its midst.

They passed the fields and city, the citizens of New Rome inclining their heads respectfully to her and Jason. The sun was just clearing the horizon, throwing the world into a dark crimson light, casting sharp shadows over the buildings and landscape.

"Think you'll be able to manage them without me?" she muttered to Jason, only half joking.

Jason gave her a rueful glare for an answer.

"What I'm worried most about is how you're going to survive without my charismatic conversations and dashing good looks."

Reyna resisted the urge to smack him, knowing that she would just get a sore hand for her troubles. Before she could say something remarkably scathing, Hazel, Frank, Octavian, and a few other Roman campers converged on her, their eyes bright with the prospect of new adventure.

Saluting sharply, they bowed in a rigid unison. Jason motioned for them to rise, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. It was oddly endearing to see him fidget, but Reyna cleared her throat to get their attention.

"We shall be leaving for Olympus in fifteen minutes' time. Say your last goodbyes, gather whatever you still need to bring. Remember, we may be there for an extended amount of time. It is hard to say for certain, so it would be wise to bring extra supplies."

They saluted again, Hazel sparing Reyna a small smile that went noticed as a flash of soft light drew her attention. The brightness filtering away to reveal a tall figure dressed in a white toga, gripping a caduceus with two hissing snakes.

"Lord Mercury," Reyna bowed. The god dipped his head in acknowledgement, his tired eyes taking in his surroundings.

"Is everyone ready?" he asked, the wings on his helmet beating a slow rhythm.

Reyna opened her mouth to say yes, but Jason stopped her with a hasty, "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, Lord Mercury, I would like to talk to Reyna about something before they leave."

Mercury arched an eyebrow, seemingly amused, and waved with a careless hand to tell them they were dismissed. Before she could pull away and demand for him to explain what was going around, Jason already had a firm grip on her wrist that she couldn't break without causing a scene.

Once they were out of earshot, she had no such qualms.

"What was that about, Jason?" Reyna hissed. He didn't answer and pulled her up behind the Senate building, where they were safely concealed from the others.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck," he said, giving her a sheepish grin.

Reyna turned back towards the group of Romans, her shoulder grazing lightly against the coarse linoleum that scratched lightly on her armor. Unknown feelings (and _entirely_ unwelcome) bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

"If that was all, I ought to be getting back."

Before she could go more than a few steps, Jason's arm planted itself an inch away from her face. Irritated, she glared at him, threatening with her eyes that she wouldn't hesitate to break it if he wasn't going to move out of her way.

"What, you aren't going to say goodbye to me?"

Exasperated, Reyna scowled. _"Goodbye,_ Jason."

His mouth curved into a smile, that little scar above his upper lip forming a happy crescent. And suddenly, Reyna noticed how the shadows playing on his face made him look dark, almost evil, as though he wouldn't hesitate to massacre the entire camp without a second thought.

"Good," he growled, and before she could regain her balance or her sluggish thoughts from their proximity —she could feel his breath fanning her ear— his lips were covering hers.

He tasted of copper and war and ozone, and before she could quite register what had just happened, he had already broken their contact, his hand dropping from where it was threaded through her dark hair. He tilted his head forward, their foreheads touching.

"Good luck and come back," he whispered. The _'to me'_ was left unspoken, but both of them could feel its heavy presence in the air, making it hard to breathe.

Then Jason was gone, and Reyna was left staring after him, her fingers hovering over her lips and dark eyes flared wide with shock.

* * *

><p>"What did Jason want to talk to you about?" Hazel muttered out of the corner of her mouth as Mercury told them to join hands.<p>

Reyna flushed a brilliant shade that she struggled to conceal by turning away. "Nothing."

Hazel didn't reply but gave her a knowing look and smile. Reyna scowled back at her, and somehow that only made her stupid grin stretch even wider.

A painful tingle in their hands was the only warning before they were spirited away by Mercury. For a few moments, they floated in a whirlwind of spinning lights and images flashing by too fast for the naked eye to see.

The movements abruptly stopped and Reyna's feet slammed against cold marble floors. It was only through battle experience that she managed to stay standing. She blinked the stars away from her eyes, vaguely unsettled by how helpless she felt as she was tugged to and fro by the wormhole.

And then she recognized the plumed helmets and bronze armor, glittering fiercely in Olympus' ethereal light. It only took a fraction of a second for Reyna to act.

At her silent command, the other Romans formed a defensive circle but did not draw their weapons. The Greeks stared at them, wide eyed, taking in their golden armor and imperious stances. They did not seem to realize who they were facing.

"Greeks!" Reyna spat bitterly, her eyes narrowing. Some of the plumed warriors started in alarm, but only one drew his sword clumsily, the rasp of metal screeching against the sheath rattling in her ears.

Frank's shoulders stiffened, and he made to unsheathe his own weapon, but Reyna stopped him with a raised hand.

"I will be able to handle him," she said confidently, sneering slightly.

The Greek looked visibly affronted, and Reyna gave herself a mental smile. She enjoyed getting under her enemies' skins, but this was a little too easy. But before the Greek could charge, Mercury's hand gripped the blade of his sword, stopping its movement.

"Enough!" His voice was harsh. "There will be no fighting on Olympus, not when we have brought you here to learn to work together."

"Work together?" Reyna repeated dubiously. "Forgive my interruption, my Lord, but it seems unlikely that the Greeks and Romans will ever get along."

From the corner of her eye, she could see some of the Greeks come to realize who they were. While most did not look happy, none seemed openly disgusted. The Romans' faces were cooly impassive, something that was ingrained into them by Lupa.

Mercury released the weapon, and the Greek slammed it back into the sheath, scowling the whole time. His gaze flitted from Hazel to Frank and then rested on her.

A dark look crossed his face. Immediately, his chest puffed out, and he slicked his hair back from his face, not noticing the slightly queasy looks the other demigods gave him. Smirking in what was probably meant to be a seductive fasion, he extended his hand for Reyna to shake. She eyed it with ill-disguised disgust and did not take it.

"Surely, even in Rome, you demigods have heard of me. I am—"

"—no one." Reyna sneered. "We do not live in Italy, demigod, just like how your camp is not in Greece. We follow the gods' revolutions in America."

He gave her a lascivious look, which only served to make him look constipated. Reyna blatantly told him so, and then tuned out his grating voice because it was giving her a headache.

Mercury looked faintly amused. The god's form shimmered away to reveal his Greek aspect, with the salt-and-pepper hair and jogging outfit.

"Yes, well, if you're quite done."

A big, burly girl with stringy brown hair elbowed her fellow Greek out of the way, scowling profusely at him, almost as if she wished she could set him aflame with just her eyes.

"Sorry about _him,"_ she jabbed her thumb behind her shoulder, "we didn't exactly have a choice to bring him, and although I'd hate to admit it, his control over water might be useful, wherever we're going. I'm Clarisse, daughter of Ares. We're part of the newly formed Elites."

She extended her hand, and this time, Reyna took it.

"Reyna, daughter of Bellona, praetor of Camp Jupiter."

Hazel broke through the conversation, her brow furrowed with something akin to unwilling hope. "He is a son of Neptune?"

Clarisse nodded. "Yeah. He's not as good as he thinks he is, though." The last part was muttered under her breath, and Reyna got the feeling she wasn't supposed to hear it.

"You are a daughter of Ares, you say? Frank, come say hello." She motioned for him to come and introduce himself.

Frank looked like he would like to do anything but, but he steeled his jaw and strode forward, his bow gripped in one hand.

"Frank Zhang, Fifth Legion, son of Mars, the Roman aspect of Ares," he said stiffly. Clarisse looked faintly interested, and Frank looked vaguely unsettled by the sudden bloodthirsty grin that popped up on her face.

"Now that you are acquainted, we are to debrief you on your mission. It is of the utmost importance."

Some of the demigods started in alarm, since they hadn't sensed the speaker's approach. Black hair mirrored her grey eyes, reminiscent to a brooding thunderstorm.

Reyna bowed, the Romans following her lead. "Lady Minerva."

A trace of a smile curved the goddess' lips, and she inclined her head in acknowledgement.

"Romans. Greeks. We have brought your two groups together —a risky gamble, indeed— in preparation of a mutual threat inflicted upon Olympus and its descendants."

"Well?" the son of Poseidon demanded impatiently. "Spit it out already."

Athena's sharp eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone, _halfblood_," she warned, her voice cold. "Do not let your accomplishments go to your head. There are many greater than you will ever be, and many to come."

"Shut up, Richard," one of the Greek demigods growled, when he looked like he was going to retaliate. Taking his stiffening silence for defeat, Athena continued her explanation, throwing him one last disdainful look.

"Gaea, or Terra, as she is also known, has awoken. While it would not be a problem if it was her alone, she has enlisted the help of the Primordial of the Pit, Tartarus. She is now able to free all of its inmates, including the Titans and the Giants. Hades has been thrown in when he tried to close the doors of Death."

A dismayed cry rang up from the Greeks. Hazel went white.

"No!" Clarisse shouted, her meaty fists balled up white in rage. "It isn't fair! We just defeated them, and look at where it's gotten us!"

_"Peace,_ daughter of Ares," Athena commanded firmly. "I realize that the situation may seem impossible, but the Olympians have come up with a plan. Contrary to popular belief, the gods are not the only deities in the dimensions."

The silence was deafening. Even Richard had paused to gape at the wisdom goddess.

"There are others, ones far older than us that have existed since the beginning of time. They are known as the _Protogenoi,_ or the Primordials. Gaea and Tartarus are ones, and fortunately for us, they are not the most powerful. Over the past few months, we have come to make a device that will allow you to travel to the dimension of the Primordials, called Ordis, which is named after their current ruler, Order. Your task would be to convince them, or any you find, to aid us in our war against Gaea."

The demigods shifted, clearly unsettled, but none quite willing to bring the wrath and ire of the wisdom goddess down on their head.

Clarisse was the first to speak again, her features twisted in an ugly snarl. "I don't believe any of this," she spat out. "If the Primordials are so powerful, why didn't they help us during the Second Titan War? Why didn't they do _anything_?"

"The Primordials are governed by a set of strict laws. They are unable to attack unless challenged, much like we are. The only ones exempt are other Primordials. Any more questions? No? Fine. Now, you have been equipped with a portal back to Earth, as well as a communication device so that we will be able to contact you while you are on Ordis. If any wish to back out, do so now."

No one moved.

"Very well," Athena said after a few moments' pause. Pointing to the large, faintly glowing runic circle, she told them to get into it and not to touch any of the symbols. Gingerly complying, the Greeks and Romans divided the circle by an unspoken agreement, each staying on their side.

"Hermes, Iris, I'll need you to keep the circle stable."

The two immortals nodded, kneeling down to touch their hands to specific runes, which lit up with a cold white light, filtering through the cracks. Athena knelt in the front, her hands going through a rapid string of gestures too fast to decipher, before intoning,

"Raidho... _endless_."

Slamming her hands on the open circle, she watched as grey light roared from the contact point, engulfing the soft blue and turning it dark.

"Good luck, demigods," she whispered.

Then the concussive force of the energy imploded and they were gone, leaving nothing but three exhausted immortals and a smoking ring of stone.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Questions —<strong> I normally don't put AN's at the bottom of a chapter, but I need help with something. My professor said that I should try to write a novel based on this short story I had done for my exams. It suddenly struck me that it was an opportunity to ask you guys... how old do you think I am, judging by my writing?

**Poll** — also, I'm curious about what you readers think about Zeus: do you want his treachery to be discovered? If so, by whom?


	13. Jera (Patience)

**Author's Notes**— I tried to update on my birthday. Seeing as that was almost a month ago, that idea worked out absolutely brilliant, didn't it?

... you can blame my exams for that.

First off, I was absolutely stunned by how many people replied to my question. I thank you all so much for your support. General consensus pegs me as a 17-25 year old—I won't give away my full age, for that may be kind of weird for some of you, but I will say that I'm not quite that old yet ;)

I'll eventually start an original novel, but that might wait until I'm finished with this story. I don't want to leave you all hanging.

**Pairing Clarification —** to all of those Percy/Death supporters out there, your wishes have been heard and complied with. To the panicking Percy/Reyna's out there, don't worry. I know what I'm going to do, and it's better than a compromise. And also, this is NOT a harem. I cannot stand those.

**Replies** — **SONxOFxCHAOS** - thank you for your input! **Xuan Tian Shang Ti** - honestly, you're making me blush. Thank you! :) I'm younger than that, actually, but it's flattering how much older people think my writing style is. **Menaphite** - I'm glad you like the complexity of plot, and that it's not too easy to guess. Zeus' power trip over others will be coming to an end quite soon, I promise. **Kitty Qin** - I'll see what I can do! **Bright Yellow Angel Halo** - thank you :) **SpartanWarrior177** - awwee, thank you! I've never seen an insane!Percy, Primordial!Percy, or even an original Chaosconcept!Percy before, so I decided to try my hand at it. I'm glad you think the end result is good. **Leftover Meal -** hey, no worries! Fear not, this chapter has arrived! And I'm not quite that old, but it's the thought that counts ;) **aesir21** - I've actually never seen Inception before. I'll just be biased and say that it's an awesome movie ;) **Genaegis** - that's a very good idea, and would probably have been the one I would have used (in fact, there are actually pieces of that idea in some places) if not for the fact that Hades has already been captured and thrown into Tartarus by Gaea. **Paradosso** - good call, I'm just not sure some of the Zeus haters out there can wait that long. **DeathmatchDrunkard** - Ah, humans. It is unfortunate that most of us are born with an inflated ego on our own _obvious_ importance. **Guest** - Thank you! I'm glad you like the character development, and can only hope that you like this chapter as well. **Dewfrost314** - _you're_ amazing ;)** Vaughan Nikolas da Roma -** honestly, I'm quite flattered, so thank you! This will be a Percy/Death as well as Percy/Reyna, but it's not a harem. Death isn't a Primordial; she's on par to Order or Chaos. Jason... I don't like him either, but I'm trying in vain not to bash him, so he isn't a rapist. Besides, I think Reyna would cut off his "little buddies" if he so much as tried. **Intellectually** - thank you! I'm actually quite stunned at the reception this story is getting. **jacksonpotterridefan101** - thank you for your input!** prince of the seas** - thank you :)** Artemis Evans** - ah, sorry about that. I tend to get caught up in my own writing and I don't always catch it in time. Your suggestions are quite wonderful, and I'll see what I can do. Thank you! ^^ **WideOpenSpacesGirl045** - Richard ... I'm feeling so conflicted... is it possible to hate a fictional character so much, and especially one that has spawned from your own imagination? Anyways, I don't quite like Jason either, so no worries! **The Great God Hermes** - thank you! I'm glad you like this story :) **Doyoureallycare** - no worries, the confrontation is here, but Percy was wily enough to evade the problem. Aether and Nyx don't know he was Thanatos, and the demigods won't know he is Percy—at least, not yet. **Guest** - thank you for your input! **Starstryker97** - thank you :) It's finally here! **ShadowFireZelda** - Percy is known as Erebus/Endless, and Thanatos. The only time "Erebus" actually stands for the original Primordial is when it's in one of Percy's dreams and is italicized. And thank you for your input! I really appreciate it. **VestalVirginsOfRome** - fear not! It has arrived ;) Sorry for the wait. Exams were killer this year.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>"I waited thousands of years...<br>but you didn't remember."_  
>- Death<p>

**Chapter VIII  
>Jera<br>**ƾ

_Rune for patience, time, peace._

* * *

><p>White.<p>

It was the first thing that registered. White walls, white ceilings, white faces.

But on second glance, he realized that that wasn't quite right. There was more than the bleached obsolete, more than the nothingness that painted the world in an eerie, faded distortion. For there was red, too much of it, in fact; the color of love, the color of hope and dreams and desires—

And blood.

Red was the color of blood, of life lost in battle, one that stained the white in gruesome sprays. A painter's artful sprawl on an abstract piece of canvas.

His opponent was crumpled where he had fallen.

_Did he have a family? Did they hate him now, like everyone else did?_

Those blank eyes were wide and unseeing, staring at a world that he would never comprehend again. Life oozed from his slashed and mangled throat, but slower now, so that it had faded from a steady gush to a few slow beads trickling down pale, porcelain skin. A bow still hung from his slackened fingertips, and as Percy watched, it clattered to the ground.

Useless. The dead had no need for weapons.

With a morbid fascination, he watched as the red swallowed up the white so that the entire floor seemed to be one never ending, never fading pool of crimson. It clung thickly to his feet as he walked towards the raised dais, staining his clothes and informing the entire world of who _—what—_ he was.

Broken arrow shafts littered the ground, some sticking fiercely out from where they had been launched. It formed tiny mountains of refuse wood in the sea of red. Pulling an arrow out of his leg with a slight wince, Percy let it join its brethren in the dust.

The pain was strangely muted. It was as if everything was happening to someone else and he was only watching.

White was purity. Red was life. And while the corpse was both, it was also neither.

Order's knuckles were turning white from the pressure he was gripping his throne. He was trembling, though from sadistic excitement or horror Percy couldn't be sure. He was pretty sure it was the former. Knowing the sick bastard, he probably peed himself with glee.

Letting his eyes sweep across the first row of spectators, he saw how Nyx's face was pinched and white _—whitewhitewhite,_ like a cadaver's, like _Death's—_ and she looked stricken, as though someone had just smacked her between the eyes. Aether was stunned at the brutality the quiet Primordial had shown. He probably hadn't expected such a massacre, Percy thought bitterly. None of them did.

Well. Now they knew who he was. No matter how much he tried to hide it, his hands were always going to be stained. Dripping with his sins. Dripping with blood.

_Erebus wasn't human, and neither am I, _Percy thought with a sudden cold humor._ We're monsters hiding under the guise of a soldier's uniform._

Straightening from his half crouched position, Percy slid the scythe-sword from his opponent's prone form. The body didn't so much as jerk, and he knew with all the conviction in his heart that he was dead. Though for some odd reason, he couldn't feel the soul depart into Death's domain. It seemed to be... sucked away into an endless pit of nothingness.

"Are we done here?"

Percy tried to keep his voice from shaking, he really did, but it wouldn't obey him. His gaze was still pinned to the floor, and he somehow couldn't look away from the black splatters —like little flowers blossoming on an endless carpet of snow; grotesquely beautiful.

A smile graced Order's lips, and it was worse than the power-hungry one, because this somehow made him seem almost human.

"How inhospitable of me," he chided, a small grin painting his lips. "I should have waited until tomorrow for your test. Nevertheless, I am glad to see that you have not failed to live up to my expectations, and that the eons have not dampened your fighting spirit."

To all others, Order's smile was sincere. But Percy could understand the underlying triumph that was exposed only to him. _You belong to me now, _it said. _I am your master._

Order closed the distance between them in a few deceptively swift steps, seizing his wrist, his hard fingers burning into Percy's skin like a prison brand. His grip was crushing, almost painfully tight... _possessive._ Like a petulant child who wanted their toy only to themselves and no one else's.

Percy eyed him with thinly veiled disgust. He knew he would be scrubbing his skin with boiling water soon enough.

_(because his touch was disgusting-filth-vermin—)_

"The victor!" he boomed, jerking Percy's arm up as though he had won honor, won _glory_ by killing everyone in his way.

_(like that was somehow_ right)

The crowd went wild, because to the civilians, losing a battle was nothing more than a ludicrous concept, one they would never have to experience.

Percy plastered a fake, fake smile on his lips, one that had once upon a time been genuine and warm, but was now cold and harsh. Order smirked back and raised his head higher, reveling in the admiration of his people.

_I won,_ he said.

"May I present, the Lieutenant of the Sentinel black op forces!"

And somehow, those words were like a death sentence, dropping its jaws around Percy like a vice, clamping him down from the freedom that was both hopelessly close and tauntingly far at the same time.

-o-

The blank white mask stared back at him, eye holes somehow hollow and mocking all at once. He resisted the urge to crush it under his fingertips. Pressing his lips together, he eyed it in distaste.

"I don't want it."

"It's yours," Nyx interrupted flatly. Her voice was cold. "We have a mission. It's regulation. Unless you care to tell me what's wrong with the mask?"

Percy grimaced. He couldn't exactly put it into words, but there was something grotesquely familiar with the mask. It wasn't new. Scratches littered the surface, and somehow, even those simple flaws were frightening.

Tracing his finger down the crack jutting from the left eye opening, a sudden chill made him shiver.

_"My lords, Perseus has been severely injured. It is recommended that he remain on the sick roster for at least a month. I have to say, though... he has a lucky streak a mile wide. "_

_"Thank you for your concerns, medic, but I'm afraid we are short on manpower. He will have to be ready in a week's time. Do whatever you have to."_

_"My lord...! A millimetre deeper, and it would have punctured some of the larger arteries and he would have bled to death before he could get back. His eye, though... I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. He won't be ready in such a short time. A month is even pushing it."_

_"Father! You can't do this!"_

_"Aether, be quiet. I may do as I wish. Medic, it is for the good of all. He is my best agent."_

_"Yes... my lord... he will be ready for Team Thurisaz in... a week's time..."_

Percy's hands tightened, dread pooling in his stomach.

"This is—"

Nyx's eyes were unwavering, and Percy felt a pang of half-sorrow, half-anger mix in his chest.

"—My en— my brother's. Is there a problem?"

_Yes_, he wanted to scream.

_My enemy's. _

Did Order suspect him? Is that why he specifically assigned this mask to Percy? To tell him that his disguise would fool no one?

"I see," he told Nyx calmly, his voice unwavering.

Turning sharply on his heel, Percy surreptitiously twisted his soul crystal once to activate the illusions. An image flickered over his own, one that was exactly identical to his own, but without the scars. The torchlight flickering in bronze braziers, set in evenly spaced holders on the wall, made the shadows play darkly on Percy's mask.

The whiteness —how ironic, purity for an _assassin_— ghosted in curves and sharp angles around his face. His eyes, stifled with raw emotions that were buried deep underneath the surface, shone coldly from the hollow openings of the mask. The jagged line over the left side revealed a line of skin that curved into a cold smile.

Incredulous horror and stunned disbelief vied for dominance on his fellow Primordials' faces. Nyx was the first to snap out of her stupor, but she looked like she just saw a ghost.

She hurried past him hastily, her shoulder banging against the crook of his arm. Aether spared him one last, suspicious glance before he ran after his sister, his cape jerking sharply in the rapidly stiffening wind.

If they had paused for a fraction of a second more, they would have seen Percy smirk.

"I guess I look like him."

-o-

He was drowning in darkness.

It was quiet. He could hear the thrum of his heartbeat, mixing in with the quiet rush of blood in his ears. For what seemed like eternity, he floated in that lethargic state…

And for the first time in months, he felt himself relaxing, his body visibly losing some of its tension.

"—Endless… get up, Endless. We have been assigned to a mission. Aether is waiting for us at the Abyss."

Nyx's tight grip on his arm was clenching. It cut off the circulation in his fingertips, and every few seconds her hand would twitch, like she was visibly restraining some sort of impulse.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Percy grumbled, quickly throwing on his armor and retrieving the knife lodged in the wall, the one he had thrown when Nyx entered. It would have hit, if she had not twisted at the last moment.

Strapping his sword around his waist, he clipped the mask over his face, watching as Nyx shivered and looked away.

"Come on," she said quietly, more subdued. Percy frowned.

_Regret_?

She gave him no more time to think. Her hand latched onto his wrist, the only part that was not covered by armor.

He tried to ask her where they were going in the middle of the night, but the thick pounding in his head cut all words from his mind. His vision blurred, and suddenly he could see two Nyxes swaying in front of him, scowling over her shoulder with a harsh glare. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like he was going to be sick.

"W-Why are we… going now?" he rasped.

"We need to… talk," she said coldly.

Was it just him, or did the temperature drop several degrees?

Without waiting for an answer, she jerked him forward, giving Percy no respite from the dull ache that was thrashing and screaming in his subconscious. The sudden movement made him pale as something holding back the torrent _broke_.

"I… don't feel well…" he suddenly whispered, one arm wrapped painfully around his torso.

Percy's legs finally gave, unable to support his weight. Nyx's sharp tug on his wrist sent him crashing to his knees at an awkward angle, and his face twisted as a thousand sharp lances of pain exploded.

(_hehurteverywhere_)

Nyx bared him a vicious, vicious smile, like a predator that knows it has gotten to its prey, and Percy felt his stomach drop.

"I know," she said calmly, and finally let go, leaving white fingerprints on Percy's too-pale skin. As if it were the only thing holding him up, he swayed and fell, the world spinning him around and around and around.

A blurred figure stepped out from behind Nyx, who was standing with her arms crossed a few feet away. Funny. Percy didn't even sense him coming.

Letting his head drop to the ground, he took a rattling breath in, feeling it hitch in his chest.

The blurs focused, sharpening to a vague silhouette, and Percy could feel more than see him kneeling by his side, one hand reaching out.

(_choking_)

The man's voice, when he spoke, was both smug and disgusted at the same time. Percy found the strength to lift his eyes upwards.

…when had he fallen?

Aether's hand slipped around Percy's neck.

"That would be the poison Nyx gave you," he admitted cheerfully, as though this kind of thing happened every say. "Skin based. She had it on her gloves when she touched you. A nice piece of work, don't you think?"

Percy gritted his teeth, spitting blood in his face. Aether only smirked.

"… Go to… Hell…"

"I'm sure you know all about Hell, wouldn't you, you deceiver?" Aether said mockingly. "Look at me and tell me it is not true," here, his voice softened a fraction of a degree. Even though Percy knew in his deepest of hearts, he still wished it could have been real. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not Thanatos."

Percy jerked.

"You…"

"Me," he reiterated calmly. "I always knew you would try to finish off Order, Thanatos. He was your only failure."

Aether's eyes were a sickening shade of an acid yellow, replacing the usual lighthearted blue. And only then did Percy notice that Nyx's eyes had also shifted from a dark cobalt to crimson red.

"You're… not Aether," he managed to gasp out, struggling in vain to escape from Aether's _loving_ grip around his throat. "are you, Kronos?" he spat the name out in loathing.

"Oh, brother, _brother_," Aether chided, and suddenly, Percy could hear the taint of Kronos' voice seeping through, like metal knives rasping against stone. "What is the matter? Are you… frightened, perhaps, that your actions have led to who I am today? Do not be. After all, it is a most wonderful change, is it not?" Lowering his voice, Aether-Kronos drew closer, as though confiding an intimate secret in him. "He used to cry himself to sleep, the pathetic weakling, you know. After you left, it was like he'd becoming a snotty little shell of his former self. And it was I who made him great again. It was I who put him back together, greater than before."

Spreading his arms out in a grand gesture, Aether-Kronos looked imperious, his figure wreathed in the flames burning in the background.

"And now," he whispered, leaning closer, so that Percy could feel his cold breath on his. "I'm taking you back, my pet. You belong to me."

He slid a finger down Percy's chest, not taking his eyes off of Percy as he hissed out barely coherent curses, his face flushed with delirium.

Kronos touched Percy's cheek, and it made him shudder as the Titan buried one hand in his hair and tilted his head up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he traced a knife under Percy's eye, not breaking the skin. The tip was icy.

"Oh yes, this wound," his voice was soft, "I gave this scar to you myself, did I not? Perhaps… perhaps I should give you another to match it."

Nyx laid one hand on Kronos' shoulder, looking slightly sickened. "Aether… that is going too far. We do not maim our victims."

Kronos shoved her away roughly. "You are out of line, woman. Know your place!"

Nyx's crimson eyes glazed over, and her head dropped limply to the side. For a second, she seemed to try and fight him, but was soon overwhelmed and collapsed into a crumpled heap.

Kronos turned back to Percy with a dark purr.

"Now, where were we? Ah… yes. Tartarus has told me such _wonderful_ things about you. I've promised him that he can have you when I'm done, but that won't be for a while now, will it? Oh no, my pet. You don't escape me that easily."

Kronos pulled Percy into his lap, pulling his head over his shoulder, rubbing his back like a loving father as the Primordial struggled to breathe through his own blood.

"You don't know how much time it took to embed a piece of myself in Aether. He is a Primordial, after all, but he was young and weak and it was disappointingly easy."

A cold kiss of steel touched Percy's neck.

"One slash… that's all it will take. You're coming with me, pet, whether you like it or not. You'll help me rule this world, and all others after it."

Percy tried to scream _no_, that he would rather die before that happened, but all that came out of his mouth was a breathless gasp. Kronos' hand was still carding through his hair, and he tried to push him away, but the Titan only tightened his grip, the knife starting to—

"**NO**!" someone screamed.

Too late.

Kronos' knife jerked across his throat, and the world erupted into a fountain of pain and red, red that stained his hands in gruesome sprays. Percy slumped forward, pitching out of Kronos' arms and rolling to a halt several feet away, where he lay crumpled and torn.

There was a curse. Kronos roared something in Aether's voice, but it was abruptly cut off with the thud of a body hitting the ground.

There was a pattering of feet, and then gentle hands were turning him over. Two fingers —cold, so _cold_— pressed gently on his wrist, which was already beginning to turn white.

The newcomer dropped Percy's arm in shock, and it fell limply to the ground.

"No," the voice breathed, before roaring to the sky, "AFTER ALL I'VE DONE, EVERYTHING I'VE SACRIFICED, YOU STILL CAN'T CARE ENOUGH TO QUIT FUCKING WITH MY LIFE, CAN YOU?!"

Percy's eyes were becoming half lidded, and his short wheezes for breaths were slower and labored. He groaned out something incomprehensible and slurred, but just as suddenly, mad green eyes locked on his own.

Then the newcomer was on his knees, a short gasp escaping his lips as he clutched Percy's head, tilting it side to side, careful not to aggravate his neck. He choked at the sudden movement, spraying the stranger with blood.

"The cycle is broken," he whispered. "Finally... I can rest..."

Biting his lip, the man used Percy's blood to write hasty figures and symbols over his chest and arms, covering his skin with intricate and delicate designs.

"This will take you back. It won't end like this. I've done it... I've finally done it... I've changed Fate."

Percy could only close his eyes as bright white light filtered out of the blood runes, encompassing his body in a soft white blanket. A last whisper rang in the air.

"You have to make sure Kronos doesn't come back this time. He'll kill them all, him and Gaea and Thanatos. I can't say more than that. Every time I did, you always ended up dying in horrible ways. Good luck..."

The last thing he saw before fading into oblivion was a pair of glowing green eyes.

"... little me."

-o-

"Aether, get up. It's your watch now, and I swear, if you're— oh. Is Endless actually... sleeping?"

Aether nodded, looking as bewildered as Nyx, who had just entered their tent. One of her hands was still curled over the flap, letting the dim light of the camp fire outside flood in.

Both of them turned to their unofficial third member, who was curled among a shipwreck of blankets and shivering slightly. Aether sat with his legs crossed a few paces away.

"Aye, he is. Odd, is it not? It's been three months since Order assigned him to our group as tentative member, but I've never seen him in such a lethargic state. I suppose this mission has tired him out."

"I don't think he wants to let his guard down around us," said Nyx softly.

As if on cue, Percy jolted to his knees, his head snapping up to fix on the two of them. His breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps, he tore at his mask, fumbling with the edges before he managed to pull it off, throwing it to the side. It crashed into the side of the canvas wall, tearing a hole through the fabric. His arms wrapped around his torso protectively; he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

Alarmed, Aether turned towards him, but before he could move, Percy threw out his hand and blasted him _back_ with a wave of sheer power. It would have crushed his chest had he not been wearing armor.

"Stay away!" he roared. It was the first time they heard him raise his voice, and the fire in his eyes was terrible. They were like that of a cornered animal's— far beyond comprehension.

Nyx noticed how his armor was stained with blood. Her eyes widened.

"You're hurt!"

Percy looked down, wiping at the runes with the back of his hand, only serving to make it look worse as it all smeared together.

"It's not mine," he muttered. "Not now, at least."

"It was just a nightmare, Endless," she soothed. Aether pulled himself out of the tangled canvas sides of the tent, but as soon as he approached, something in Percy's eyes hardened.

"Kronos," he spat, and the sheer loathing in his tone made Aether falter. "I know you're there."

Aether looked confused. "Chronus?"

Percy narrowed his eyes. Nyx seized this opportunity to lay a hand on his shoulder, but he ripped himself out of her reach. Faster than she could comprehend, he had gripped her wrist, splaying her fingers out and scrutinizing it furiously.

Nyx's eyes widened and she tried to pull back, but fear had given him unbreakable strength.

After what seemed like millennia, Percy relaxed, dropping her wrist.

"You aren't them," he whispered. "It was just a... a dream."

His eyebrows drew together in confusion, and he backed into a corner, showing more emotion than Nyx had seen him express since she'd met him about three months ago.

"I'm finally cracking, aren't I?" he whispered, his head between his hands, face flushed. "Kronos did it, or maybe it was Tartarus. I don't understand. What did I do to land myself among them? Wasn't being a martyr enough? Wasn't being tortured for millennia good enough for _them_?"

An inexplicable feeling rose in Nyx's chest, rearing its ugly head. It clawed at her chest, making her breathing come in short gasps. Her vision hazed red.

How dare they.

(he's _mine_)

"Torture?" she demanded. Those bright, feverishly bright eyes fixed on her, and even in such an unstable state, she had the impression that he was looking through her soul.

Abruptly, something clicked behind his gaze, and like a switch had suddenly been flipped, his expression smoothing into the mask he had thrown at the canvas walls.

It was as if his breakdown didn't happen at all. Nyx was almost convinced it hadn't, but the nail marks on her palm proved otherwise.

"Nothing," Percy smiled thinly, "it was just a dream. I apologize for worrying you, but it is of no importance."

Nyx knew he was lying, but Aether restrained her, his dark eyes uncommonly serious.

"If that... _changes_, you can trust us."

Percy's eyes dimmed, and he did not reply.

"I'll take the rest of the night watches."

And with that, he was gone. The only sign of his ever being there was a smear of blood against the side of the tent, and the fluttering of the entrance flaps.

-o-

He had _lost_ _control_.

Something in his hands tightened at the thought. Hissing in pain, he looked down to see the leather reins cutting red lines into his clenched hands.

His steed shook its silky mane restlessly, as though it had somehow felt its master's distress. Large, intelligent eyes came to rest on his own, and a velvet nose nuzzled the top of his head as the horse attempted to eat his hair.

"You hungry, Dominus?" he asked softly, swatting away the horse's second attempt to make him bald. Dominus nickered reproachfully, and Percy snickered at how human-like the horse sounded at times. Leaning against its sturdy flank, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to get the horse gunk out.

At the moment, they were on a mission to eliminate a brigade of A-ranked specialists, who had yet to be seen. They had dismounted to give their horses a rest, and Nyx had gone to reconnaissance, since Aether was absolutely horrible at anything that did not involve smashing and killing.

The night watch had been silent and uneventful, which gave Percy plenty of time to tear into himself for letting his mental barriers to drop. There always was a lapse of a few minutes before he could regain coherence. Tartarus had affected him more than he would like to admit.

It had almost given away his cover. That was unacceptable.

Percy's head pounded thickly at the thought, and suddenly he felt very cold, like he'd just been thrown into a snowbank. Dominus flattened his ears, eyes narrowing into pinpricks of hostile light.

Something wasn't right.

"Aether!" he shouted.

It was then that something came crashing down behind him. Then the world erupted in a cataphonic mass of chaos and sound, and there was no time to think —only to react.

Percy spun around quickly, but not quickly enough, for the sheer force of the explosion sent him flying backwards. Aether burst out of their camp, but all was lost in the dull ringing in his ears.

The force sent him plowing through the trees, filling his vision with shredded leaves and bark. The poison slowed his reflexes to the point that when he finally realized what was going to happen, he was too late to stop it.

Light disappeared. Darkness swallowed the world.

The blunt impact of smashing into a mountain robbed all breath from his body, and loosened some of the rocks looming near the precipice. There was a few seconds of confusion, and only when the pain registered, blossoming in his head, did he realize just how hard he'd been thrown.

A few pebbles brought down an entire avalanche of rock. It buried him under a tonne of stones and debris, entombing him inside, throwing the entire world into black.

He could see tiny pinpricks of light —unattainable— far overhead, the sun glittering down mockingly at him.

Was this how it felt to be buried alive?

Earth crushed down on him, stealing what little air remained in his lungs. Gasping for breath, black started to consume his vision.

_"I can't die like_ this... _not after all I've done, all I've risked! You're not getting us killed, boy!"_

The voice was foreign, and Percy had never heard it before... not that he could remember, anyways. It was harsher, older, yet it bore some semblance to his own.

Foreign power coursed through his veins, giving out a sudden bout of hellfire. It licked at his skin with soothing flames, and for a terrifying second, he feared it wouldn't work.

Trapped—

_It felt like his bones were melting, liquefying in the intense heat, but the lesson Kronos wanted Percy to learn wasn't about pain._

_It was about weakness. Powerlessness. Water was supposed to be his benefactor, his savior, and yet—_

_He couldn't breathe —Alaska's water, taken from the land beyond the gods— and Kronos' rough, calloused hand forced his head under the surface until he oh gods he couldn't do anything couldn't break free—_

—he was lying in a puddle of molten rock, choking as his lungs struggled for air. His hands clawed into the gritty dirt, leaving thin gouges in the earth.

_This isn't Tartarus,_ he chanted silently, repeating the mantra over and over as though that would make it go away.

Like the big bad monster under the bed.

His hands still shook with the phantom pains of electrical burns, and his vision roared with darkness, the kind that swallowed you in its depths and never let go.

Percy was a Primordial. He was more powerful than a mere Titan, but Kronos was able to illicit such fear, such desperation in him that Percy _knew_ it was wrong.

He somehow found the strength to flop over. The sight of the sky was reassuring. It twinkled down, tiny pinpricks of stars starting to ghost across the velveteen surface. The blue moon —the normal one out of the three that existed in this dimension— symbolized peace and calm, something Percy wasn't feeling at the moment. No, it felt more like he had been run over by an army of Aethers wearing cleats.

He laid spread eagled against the cold earth, fighting to breathe. It came in short, shallow bursts. Unconsciousness threatened to take him, and he tried to fight it back, but it was so tempting, so _very_—

-o-

Percy opened his eyes. The bright light assaulted his vision, and as he raised a hand to block out the sun, the movement tore viciously at his ribs and chest. He flexed his fingers, grimacing as a wave of nausea and pain forced him to stifle a gasp. He was sure they were broken, or at least ripped to shreds.

Picking himself off the ground, Percy staggered a few steps, feeling as though someone had dropped several tonnes of lead onto his legs. He pressed his palm to the small of his back, quickly dropping his hand when his entire body scorched with pain.

Percy's other hand had closed itself around a sturdy tree branch. He clung to it as if it were the only thing keeping him up. Twinges of protest seared through his fractured ribs and what internal bleeding resulted from being knocked around for the past few hours.

Aether and Nyx were most likely still fighting. He needed to return, for however much faith he had in their abilities, he doubted they could last much longer. His head still ached with phantom pains, and the world began to spin in his eyes, forcing him to press his palms to his head in a vain attempt to stop the dizziness.

He couldn't _see._ Everything was a blur of colors and sounds.

Instinct, or perhaps paranoia, borne from war, made Percy fade into the landscape until his silhouette was nothing more than a whisper of shadow. He knew no one would see where he was unless they were specifically looking for him, but he still wished he had a weapon. His scythe-sword was sticking out of a spot several meters away, too far to reach without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

There was someone there. Somewhere. He could feel the faint pulse of life somewhere, humming distantly from underneath the slain.

Aether and Nyx had been forced to retreat, and now they were only a few meters away from where Percy had been thrown. They had spread out, checking for any more assailants bursting out of the trees.

Bodies littered the once worn footpath, and the chariot ridges in the earth now resembled rivers, overflowing with blood, staining the ground with its crimson touch.

A flicker of movement caught his attention, but it was gone before Percy could focus directly on it. He didn't know where it came from, and he could barely see. It could've just been the wind (though he wasn't betting on it—he _was_ Percy, after all).

He scanned the area intently, but after a few minutes, when nothing else had moved, he convinced himself that nothing was there and it was just his imagination going on hyperdrive.

Then he could feel the faint outline of a shape —blurry, indistinct— flare to life, rising from the dead, its arm tensing backwards in anticipation. A knife glinted in his hand.

A warning couldn't reach the others in time, and Percy wouldn't be able to block any incoming projectiles, for he was too far away. Even if he was close enough, he wasn't sure if the assassin was aiming for Aether or Nyx, and thus, he would not be able to calculate the trajectory angles properly.

Percy wasn't a being of thought, but of action. Strategy, however much it appealed to Erebus, never had much of a hold on him.

Careful not to alert the assassin to his whereabouts, Percy knelt down silently, his hand closing around a bow and sheath of arrows lying in the grass, half hidden by the tall ferns swaying in the gentle breeze.

A cold, clammy hand still clung resiliently to the leather grip, and Percy felt it dropping to the ground when he jerked it higher. The dead man's arm —gray in the light— hit the earth with a soft thump, a shallow crevice forming from the impact.

Breathing out through his nose, Percy swung the bow up in a motion that somehow felt smooth and practiced. Sunlight raced in a zig-zag pattern over the smooth metal surface, pronouncing each curve, each scratch with a sharp clarity. His other hand plucked an arrow from the ground, notching the shaft to the string.

The assassin's rib cage was exposed, his arm having swung up in a brief second of vulnerability.

It was enough. He could feel the bow starting to quiver from the force, and released it before the weapon could snap.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

Only too late did Aether and Nyx realize that someone had been behind them the whole time. There was a thud of a something wet and soft hitting a tree trunk.

The feathers of an arrow stuck out of his chest, the rest having gone through his entire body and impaled itself in the tree.

"Who's there!" Aether shouted.

Before the agitated Primordial could jump up and attempt to murder Percy on the spot, Percy staggered to his feet, a faint smile on his lips.

"Calm down, Aether," he whispered. "It's just me. You really should pay more attention to your surroundings."

Nyx didn't seem surprised to see him melt out of the shadows. She sounded curious, but there was an underlying tint of concern in her words.

"... is something wr—"

Aether had gone over to inspect their would-be assassin, who was still pinned lifelessly against the tree. His head hung limply to the side, and his entire body sagged like the arrow was the only thing keeping him up —because it was.

"Why didn't you say you were could shoot like that! All this time, I thought you liked using swords and axes and knives—"

Percy smiled thinly, "... you never asked."

"..._never asked,_ he says..." Aether muttered under his breath, looking like he would much rather tear his hair out. He was beginning to sound a little hysterical, and his gestures were becoming so wild that Nyx took several steps back to avoid his windmilling arms. Percy winced as his voice rose several octaves in volume.

The rest of his rant debilitated into a string of curses that Percy blamed on pent-up adrenaline from the aftermath of a battle (or at least, he hoped so; some of those curses were awfully creative).

"I'm _really_ not that good with archery," Percy said defensively, only to realize his mistake when Nyx arched an eyebrow in disbelief. He sighed. "Look, can we just drop this?"

Aether looked like he was about to protest, but Nyx silenced him with a look.

"Fine," he grumbled sullenly.

Percy's responding smile was faint.

"Great..." he muttered dizzily. "Tell Pontus that... he'll have to make do without me for a bit..."

Nyx blinked in surprise. "You push that boy much too hard, and now you're letting him off for such a long—_Endless_!"

Percy had toppled backwards, the Sentinel mask slipping off to reveal his closed eyes and the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Nyx had already sprung to action.

"Should have known," she muttered, her hands furiously disengaging his broken armor and ripping apart his clothing to bandage his wounds, which were starting to pour out in an ever increasing torrent, "there was probably poison on that blade, or maybe it was being thrown through half a forest and a mountain that did it."

Aether pouted a little. He had never seen Nyx fuss so much over anyone, not even himself.

After a few more minutes of bandaging and re-bandaging to ensure everything was absolutely perfect, Aether crouched down next to her.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he said softly.

Nyx barely spared him a second glance.

"What is?"

"That he managed to come such a long way in such a short time. It's only been about three months since Order made him a lieutenant of the Sentinels."

"Order never does that anymore," Nyx admitted, her hands slowing in their ministrations. "Since the Sentinels are the black-ops group, I mean. It's nigh impossible to be commissioned into their ranks, and even then, they mostly keep to themselves."

Aether shrugged. "We both know that Endless is holding back, after all. After three months, we still don't know an incredible amount about him, except to never have him as an enemy."

Nyx shuddered slightly. "I know. We both saw Order's test."

"It was a gladiator fight," Aether said flatly. "A slaughter; there was no contest from the start. No need to make it sound pretty. But I wasn't expecting him to be made a lieutenant. He could easily be a commander or general."

Nyx scowled at him. "_We're_ commanders. He's frightening enough, at times, but do you honestly think he could defeat us, let alone become a general?"

"I don't want to find out," was all Aether said, but his conviction was clear. "You know as well as I do that Order made Endless a lieutenant only because he doesn't fully trust him. His skills are on par, if not better, than ours. Otherwise, haven't you thought why a lieutenant was made a teammate with two commanders? If he was truly _lieutenant_ material, then Order wouldn't have given him a second's thought."

"Maybe it was because he knew Chaos," Nyx argued back.

Aether didn't look convinced. "Perhaps," he echoed. "But how much is he hiding from us? Like his sudden skill with archery... he didn't even have to open his eyes to sight his target..."

He was about to say more, but was cut off when his soul shard burned against his skin. A holographic image, flickering and shaking in the wind, materialized before Aether and Nyx.

"Lord Order," Nyx murmured, not at all surprised at his sudden appearance. "The mission was a success. Endless was poisoned and suffered blunt trauma and internal bleeding, but that has started to subside. There is no percussive damage."

Order nodded, satisfied, but his eyes remained cold.

"Good," he said. "I have another mission for you, a B-ranked investigation."

Only B? They could complete this easily. Too often they are sent on A rank after A rank.

"What are your orders, my Lord?" Aether said without hesitation.

Order smiled thinly. "Our sensors have reported a sudden spike of energy near _the_ Battleground."

Nyx sucked in a harsh breath, her eyebrows drawing together in alarm. "_The_ Battleground of _Souls_? You don't think... he could..."

"—we're not sure," Order said grimly. "It may be possible."

"Wait, wait." Aether interrupted. "Who are you talking about and what's going on? Am I missing something?"

Nyx and Order seemed to have a mental conversation, and after a few minutes, Order sighed.

"Do you recall who died in that particular battle?"

It took a moment for the impact of the statement to sink in, and when it did, Aether turned several shades paler.

"No..." he whispered in disbelief. "Percy? He could... resurrect... come back to life?"

Order made to answer, but Erebus suddenly made a sound of pain, one of his hands going to his throat as though someone invisible was trying to throttle him alive. Nyx jumped up, her maternal instincts —though for all they knew, Endless could be older than both of them _combined_— and knelt by her thrashing teammate, muttering soothing words.

His skin was warm to the touch. Erebus was always cold, colder than glacier ice, so this was paramount to a wracking fever for him.

"He's burning up," she said worriedly, her hand going to the first aid pouch she always kept on her person, but thin fingers closed around her wrist, searing into her skin.

"M' alright," Erebus rasped. With a start, she noticed that his eyes were opened now, but unfocused. They shone feverishly bright. His voice was a hacking cough. "It's just the poison. I'm... I'm fine."

Nyx suppressed a growl, her relief smothered by exasperation. "You also said that when you broke the entire left side of your body, during that mission two weeks ago, and if you're as accident prone as you are on solo missions, most people would be dead. You could probably hold up the sky and say that you were absolutely brilliant."

"I was actually fine that time. I'm not most people," Erebus muttered defensively, then seemed to realize his mistake as soon as Nyx's eyes widened, then tried to backpedal quickly, but it was too late.

"What was that?" she said, and the fake sweetness sent shivers down Aether's spine.

Erebus sighed, squeezing his eyes shut like the memory physically pained him. "It was a long time ago. What happened to the times where you two were actually frightened of me?"

Nyx smirked at his sullen expression. "It went away when we realized how adorable you looked."

Erebus blanched.

"I only look a year or two younger than you! And... I'm not adorable," he protested, and for a moment, it seemed as though there was something wistfully nostalgic in his tone. His eyes were sad, and painfully intelligent, as though he had secrets upon secrets to keep.

"That's good enough," Nyx said,

_B__ecause I feel like I've already known you for a lifetime._

Aether offered Erebus a hand up, and he allowed the Primordial to help him to his feet, even though he was still a bit unsteady.

"Lord Order," he said sharply, giving a short bow. "What is our new objective?"

Order's eyes narrowed.

"There has been a large spike in runic activity near the Battleground of Souls, where a... traitor, of our nation, was killed millennia ago. We fear he may be resurrecting with the aid of Thanatos, who claims to be the Champion of Death herself."

Erebus' expression hardened. Something inside of him went cold.

"Death is not a Primordial, is she?" Nyx murmured inquisitively. Order shook his head.

"No, that would be comparing an ant to an elephant. Death can be considered one of the first, on par with myself. We have different limitations, but she is older than the Primordials, and can be traced back to the beginning of creation."

"So this Thanatos must be powerful," said Erebus, visage unreadable.

"The last time we met him, he completely decimated us," Aether affirmed, all traces of humor gone. "He was... lethal. Fast. Deadly. There was something about his presence. It was thick and heavy, oppressing until you can barely breathe. His eyes seemed to... look into your soul, judging it. And you better hope that he thinks you're worth saving, or you'll be dead on the spot."

"But he has not been seen for four months. He is planning a mastermind destruction, no doubt, and perhaps under our very noses."

Erebus' eyes narrowed, meeting Order's calm ones.

"Are you implying something, _sir_?" his voice was dangerously soft.

"Not at all," Order said smoothly, "I just find it odd how you _woke_ at the same time Thanatos disappeared. Perhaps you are in on his contingency plan."

The temperature dropped several degrees in a matter of seconds. Aether could see his breath in a thick cloud of white, fanning up into the sky. Turning to the side, he blinked in shock to see that Erebus' lips were starting to turn blue, and his skin even paler than before, the color of snow. His hair was so black it seemed to be composed of thousands of darker colors, his emerald eye was starting to leak red into the iris.

"A lucky coincidence," Erebus said, his voice still calm, his voice echoing with power, and Aether shivered. No signs of his previous fatigue remained. "How do you know that _I _am not a victim of Thanatos' manipulations? That he forced me out of my sleep so I will be framed while he is able to roam free, to strike havoc upon the world."

Order's lips quirked upwards, as though amused.

"Very well," he finally said after a tense pause. "I shall take your word. I apologize for doubting your loyalties."

"Your _gracious_ apology is accepted," Erebus reiterated, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. "I should be the one apologizing for not making my intentions _clear_."

Some of the tension melted away, though something about Order's accusation struck a chord with Erebus, for he did not relax. Aether narrowed his eyes.

"We ought to be going, should we reach our destination before nightfall."

Order nodded.

"Very well. I expect your report in a week's time. Dismissed."

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Reyna<strong>

Reyna woke in a barren wasteland, surrounded by corroded shells of armor and broken javelins. Ivy twined over the ruins, its roots curling possessively around the broken destruction.

In the distance, she could see a long, splintered piece of steel, which looked like it had served as a flag standard once upon a time. But time and rust had eaten away at the metal, and the banners had been stripped away by the birds to line their nests.

Reyna's blood chilled cold.

If they had indeed landed on Ordis, then this would have been a battle to last the eons. She remembered how fast the warriors moved, how much strength was behind their blows. Whatever felled so many of them in such a massacre was no doubt a dangerous foe, and Reyna held no delusions that any of their envoy could even defend against such an enemy.

Hastily propping herself up, she roughly shook the body closest to her.

"Frank!" she hissed. "Get up! We're on Ordis, I think."

The demigod's eyes fluttered, but did not open. Shaking him harder, Reyna growled a few curses, before she slapped him across the face.

Frank shot up, his nose nearly slamming itself against the praetor's helmet. Reyna moved back in time, and he overbalanced and ended up a piled heap in the dust. Coughing and choking, he rubbed the red mark on his cheek, glowering at Reyna, who gave him a lazy grin.

"You wouldn't get up," was all she said, leaving Frank to sputter incoherently. "And take a look around. Now is not the best time to be napping. Do you still have the communicator Lady Minerva gave us?"

Frank's mouth twisted in disgust as he took in their surroundings, his gaze shifting from the shattered chariots to the charioteers —their armor, she amended in her head— still slumped bonelessly against the railings, spears jutting grotesquely from their chests.

He fumbled with the buckle of his pack, slinging it off his shoulder and pulling out the thin, rectangular device that resembled a walkie-talkie, the only exception being the small characters carved into the side, powering it without needing a battery.

Flipping the switch on, Reyna held it up to her ear, frowning when only silence came through.

"Hello, this is Reyna. Can you hear me?"

There was a long pause, before the other end crackled to life. Frank let out a short bark of relief, the tension seeping away from his braced shoulders.

But the gods did not speak. Frank opened his mouth to say something, to announce their safe arrival, but Reyna instinctively slapped her hand over his mouth, stifling his words. Her suspicions were confirmed when the shivers of sound refined themselves enough for her to listen.

There was a bitter laugh, full of vindication and triumphant glee. It was not a pleasant sound. "Oh, child. Foolish goddess. I've already won. There is no stopping the inevitable. I already know where they have gone. Be grateful that I cannot go back, or they would already have been razed to the ground. Six months... I have given you six months of reprieve. No longer."

Frank's eyes were wide open and his mouth was clamped firmly shut. It would be a miracle if his jaw would loosen enough for him to ever talk again.

And suddenly Terra was speaking directly into the device, her malicious voice spilling into the heated air.

"Do you hear me, _halfbloods?_ You will not escape me, no matter how much the gods think they can outsmart one far older and stronger than they could ever hope to be. I wish you luck in trying to persuade my kin to turn against me. This is goodbye."

Reyna dropped the communicator as it began to smoke, throwing her helmet over just as the runes on the side exploded with a burst of fire.

A few minutes passed. Reyna stared silently at the large, fluffy clouds arcing across the cerulean sky, trying to gather her conflicted thoughts.

Six months. It took three months for the gods to create a means to get them across the dimensions. They've only just arrived here—no. The time difference couldn't be this large.

The particularly adventurous mortals —astronauts, they were called. If they wished to travel into space, they needed to generate a large amount of thrust to pull them away from the Earth's gravity. That wasn't even including the years and years it could potentially take for them to reach any other planets.

Perhaps the same concept applied with inter-dimensional travel. It took the Greeks and Romans three months to travel through all of the other dimensions to reach their destination. The elaborate ritual circle Lady Minerva had drawn protected them from the crushing forces, while the gods' power was used as fuel to transport them here.

...well, at least it wasn't a few years.

"Frank," she said steadily, her eyes staring forward without really seeing. Her voice did not betray her inner turmoil. Picking up her now singed helmet, she absently brushed the ashes out of the inside. "Wake the others. There will be no time for us to fight amongst ourselves. Terra most likely has destroyed the runic circle back to Earth, as well as the communication devices. We will be receiving no help from there."

Frank shakily scrambled to his feet, sounding relieved that she had taken charge. "Y-Yes, Reyna."

A few minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, the remaining Romans and Greeks were roused and quickly given a basic explanation by Frank.

"How do we know this isn't some sort of trick?" demanded Richard once he was done. He winked roguishly at Reyna, who sneered back. "No offense to you, _sweetheart,_ of course. But these _Romans_ can't be trusted."

Though it seemed like no one in the Greek camp liked Richard very much, he had acted as the devil's advocate. It was something they were all thinking.

"Does it seem like we would deliberately sabotage our allies?" Reyna's voice burned like acid. "While our ancestors had bad blood with each other, there will be no help coming in from the gods. We are all that's left, and don't try to delude yourself that Olympus will remain standing for much longer."

"You could be doing it for the glory," Richard accused. "Make us help you and then kill us all to claim the fame and recognition."

Reyna snorted. _"Please._ Fame means nothing to me, not when so much is at stake. Keep your gluttony. I do not care for it."

A girl dressed in green armor and a light cloak spoke up, her hands fiddling with the braid of dark brown hair that hung over her shoulder.

"We need to work together," she stated firmly.

"Katie..."

Clarisse spoke up. "I think we should cooperate for now. However much we hate each other, those prunies or whatever they were called are a lot more vicious."

_"Protogenoi,"_ Reyna corrected.

Octavian sniffed, his sacrificial knife held in one hand. With his other hand, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small stuffed dog. The Greeks watched in morbid bemusement as he ripped the poor toy into two, muttering to himself and digging through the stuffing. Reyna just rolled her eyes and suppressed a sigh of annoyance.

"Beware of the white masks!" he proclaimed dramatically, throwing the remains into the air, making it rain animal bits.

The girl with the earth-brown hair —Katie— frowned at the augur.

"Uh... right. We must move before nightfall. I would not like to stick around when all the particularly nasty things creep out of hiding."

That seemed to bring new energy to the demigods, as they all scrambled to their feet, collecting bits of things that had broken free from their backpacks and set off in the direction of the setting sun.

Before they even made it five steps, a shriek rent the air apart.

Reyna spun around, her gladius out of its sheath and in her hand in a matter of seconds. The gold shone in the darkness, reflecting the gaudy reds of sunset in the quivering light of the blade.

Another shriek sounded, this one far too close.

"Come out and fight like a man!" Clarisse bellowed, her sword brandished.

For a few moments, the world was silent. The demigods had unconsciously drawn together, their backs together and weapons out.

And then one of the Greeks cried out —a son of Athena?— blood ripping away from his throat, and he collapsed, eyes wide and blank. Five claw marks scored across his face. His death cry was chilling.

"Ghosts," Octavian's face was paler than it normally was, the shade of sour milk.

"Don't be absurd," Reyna snapped. "They're just too fast for us to see. We—"

Something crashed down at her feet, and she jumped back before she fully saw what it was. Black fur, missing tufts and revealing decaying flesh and gleaming bones, shone in the moonlight. It resembled a panther, with its lithe body and sleek tail, only one that had been dead and brought back to life. Fangs were visible from behind curved lips.

A knife's handle was buried in the panther's neck, oozing sulphuric yellow blood. It thrashed in pain, but before Reyna could strike, a figure materialized with his knee driving the creature's head into the dirt. A pale hand grasped the hilt, yanking the blade out of the creature's body with a vicious twist. A flash of metal —the monster went limp and blood sprayed upwards like a leaky faucet, but the figure didn't seem to care.

When his face caught the dying rays of the moon, Reyna could see that he was wearing a red mask, stained with yellow. But on second glance, the mask wasn't supposed to be red, for she saw the places where the color was flaking off to reveal white.

Reyna suddenly felt sick.

"Nairius thora gen esi."

When the stranger spoke, his voice was smooth and young, contrasting sharply with his bloodstained weapons and cold demeanor.

"Who are you?" Richard demanded. He had been so silent during the fight that Reyna had almost forgotten he was there.

The immortal stiffened, his hand tightening on his knife. Clarisse elbowed Richard in the face.

"Shut up, pretty boy," she growled, "you're just gonna make him mad, and if he tries to kill you, I'm throwing you to the wolves."

Even through the mask, Reyna could feel the stranger's amusement. His posture shifted—less hostile—and it felt as though a foreign pressure had been lifted off her chest.

"I believe we got off on a wrong start," he said to Reyna in English. It took her a moment to categorize the voice. Her eyes narrowed.

"You!"

"Me," said Thanatos calmly. "It was the only way to get you to your dimension, but it seems that you have not heeded my warning."

"You know why we have come, then."

"My answer does not change. Leave, godlings. Our matters do not concern you, nor yours us."

"Gaea is wrecking havoc on Earth! How could you be so cruel—"

It was the wrong thing to say. The temperature suddenly dropped below zero, and Reyna could feel the shivers tracing her spine. His eyes were unnervingly calm, but like glaciers, chilling and immense in power.

"Clarisse," she muttered, holding out a hand to restrain the furious demigod, who didn't seem to perceive the grave she had just dug for herself. "Calm down."

"Sunt hittorica tho, Infinitius?"

Two figures —the ones Reyna had seen in her vision— appeared beside Thanatos, menacing in full armor. They started to advance, but he shook his head, stopping them.

"Ingen," he said. "Ipsi non sunt minas nos derelinquere."

The white haired one narrowed his eyes. "Lorem causta augmenti."

"Syllavei," Thanatos replied in exasperation, jerking his head to the head, as though signalling for privacy.

His companions looked distrustfully at the demigods, but they moved to the edge of the woods and prowled around for any incoming threats, occasionally looking up to glare threateningly at them.

"Leave now," he reverted back into English. "Before you cannot."

"We can't leave," said Katie timidly. "Gaea has taken control of Olympus, or will be, at any rate. There's nothing for us to go back to."

Reyna stepped forward, steeling her nerves. "Thanatos—"

The stranger snarled. His hands clenched into fists, and in the distance, the other two immortals froze in shock. A flurry of emotions would have flitted across his face, but all Reyna could see was the red mask, cold and unyielding.

After a few minutes, he finally said, in a low voice, "I am not."

"But Lupa—"

"Thanatos is my brother."

"Your—"

"We were twins. There is little difference between death and the endless, and many don't take us to be separate entities. The mortals do not know I exist."

**Percy**

"Why didn't you tell us?" Nyx breathed, fully expecting Percy to look upset, which he quickly molded his features to look, even though she couldn't see him from under the mask.

"You would have treated me like a criminal, prejudiced by my... brother's actions," he bit out harshly.

It was odd to talk about himself in third person, and he mentally cursed the rash girl that had exposed him. Now he had to pretend he had a brother. A slightly deranged one nevertheless.

"Is this the reason you were asleep for so long?"

Aether's voice was quiet. Something about the distrust in their eyes made Percy bite his lip. He had come to treasure their acceptance, and having it suddenly taken away made him feel as though someone had robbed him of breath.

Percy hesitated for only a second, which credited his lying skills. He just had to remember his so-called background, in case he needed to add more details later on.

"Yes... Thanatos was the... _favored_ one, out of both of us. Our parents... they barely knew I existed. Sometimes, I think they forgot they had a second son. I was always faster —I _had_ to be— and he was the stronger. We are equal in terms of power, but in different disciplines. But one of us is always forced to sleep while the other is awake. We cannot exist at the same time, yet cannot exist without the other, like two sides of the same coin. Our domain is too similar, and two Primordials cannot have the same dominion. "

His eyes found the ones of the dark-haired girl, and he felt nothing but hollow contempt for the gods. He pushed it away. Taking out his vengeance on them would make him paramount to the pettiness of the Olympians, and he would not lower himself to that level.

The English pulled oddly on his tongue. After months of speaking the native language, it was beginning to deteriorate into a series of disconnected words and phrases.

It was mostly likely a result of Erebus' mind starting to merge with his, but he was thankful that everything came out of his mouth was filtered to sound polite, if a little bit apathetic.

"You have brought the wrath of Gaea upon yourselves, and thus, you must be the ones to rectify your mistakes—all of them."

Percy motioned to Aether and Nyx, who were death-glaring at the demigods, especially one standing defiantly to the right. He wasn't sure why—oh.

Percy suddenly felt the need to do something particularly horrible.

So maybe disembowelling him slowly with a rusty spoon wasn't allowed —the ancient rules bound him not to attack before being attacked— but it never mentioned psychological torture.

Really, Erebus' sadistic side was starting to influence him too much. Not that he was complaining.

Before any of them could react, Percy had disappeared from their eyes, so fast that even Aether and Nyx couldn't see him. One of his hands wrapped around Richard's neck, the other forcing his chin up. The demigod tried to pull away, but Percy took sadistic pleasure in yanking his head back to meet his eyes.

For some reason, Percy had inadvertently found out that his eyes had a hypnotizing effect on weak-willed people, and Richard definitely fell in that category.

"Thanatos may have been my brother," he purred, "but I know the secrets of Death as well as he does. The dead... they spill their secrets to him in hopes that they will be spared, and I am the one that holds them close. I can taste the fear on you, little mortal. Your secrets, oh yes... you haven't told your fellow shield bearers, have you? I see in your eyes you have not."

There was something dark and atramentous about his steely gaze, one that spoke of timeless knowledge and a particularly vicious streak—a lethal combination. His eyes burned with power, and for a second, the demigods could see hellfire in them, reflecting back images of hell and eternal damnation.

Richard screamed something unintelligible and attacked, yanking his sword out of its sheath.

One side of Percy's lips quirked up, and anticipation burned in those dark, dark eyes. Ignoring Clarisse's curses and shouts not to engage with a potential enemy, he charged forward. Aether growled, but Percy restrained him with a shake of the head.

"A kitten could handle him. I shall be fine."

"But you're—"

"_Really_, Night," a tinge of exasperation entered his voice, "I can handle myself. I do not need either of you to absolve my problems."

"FIGHT ME!" Richard roared. He was less than a few meters away now, and Percy sidestepped Richard's kick, calmly moving his head to the side to dodge a wild slash of his sword.

After a few minutes, he began to get bored. Covering his hand in a thin layer of hellfire, he let the weapon crash down on him.

Someone screamed.

Percy smirked, twisting the metal around his finger like a pretzel. Richard was turning a steady purple.

And then he was slammed back into a tree trunk, the back of his neck cut up from being smashed into the rough bark, Percy's hand shoved uncomfortably under his chin, cutting off his breath.

"I would kill you," he hissed, "but that would be a mercy. Thanatos and I may share similarities, but unlike him, I do not believe in killing _filth_ to bring about vengeance. No, the worst hell is the one I plan to create for you, living in a world where your worst nightmares will come to life. So be prepared..."

Percy shoved him backwards and stepped into the shadows, Aether and Nyx following his example.

"... and watch your back."

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>"My Lord, a package has come."<p>

Order accepted the brown-wrapped parcel, dismissing the messenger with a careless wave. He was about to cast it aside when he saw the neat shorthand curved into the coarse cloth. Something about it was dreadfully familiar.

He tore open the package cautiously. What was it? A bomb? A ruined assassination attempt?

He wasn't prepared to have a round, slightly wet _thing_ rolled out and came to rest at his feet, staining his clothing with fluids of questionable color. Matted hair coated the —head, it was a head, even though it had been so thoroughly destroyed it was hard to tell. Dampened with dried blood, the wild eyes, even in death, still conveyed heart-stopping fear.

There was a brand carved into his forehead. A raven with wings outstretched, a single arrow clutched in one clawed talon.

The symbol of the Destroyer. Of Perseus, the Darkness—the false traitor. A note was pinned to the head by a sharp raven's feather.

_The last game to play ends in death._

_I am coming for you._

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - excuse this out-of-place author's note once again. It's just here to say how much I appreciate everyone putting their time in to answer my previous question. I have yet another request, to those of you that are familiar with _BBC Merlin._

I was thinking... would you like to see a story in which Percy is Mordred? He won't be superpowered, but not underpowered either. I know it sounds odd, but I think I know how I can work it out.

Also, some readers have been getting incensed over the length of the chapters being too long. Especially this one. 12,000 words. What do you think?


	14. Tiwaz (Justice)

**Author's Notes** — A new update! I couldn't leave you all hanging, could I? Chapter lengths will remain the same. We've passed 100,000 words! Thank you to everyone who reviewed; I'll admit I was quite stunned at the popularity.

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong> — **MrR3DP4ND4** - no worries, it'll get clearer! :) I've never really found PJO canon giving much to work with, which is why the fandom is overpopulated with those high school or reading fics that make me want to throw my computer against the wall and scream. **SpartanWarrior117** - Aweh, thank you! I've missed you all. Glad to be back! **Menaphite** - Zeus "accidentally" lets some things slip this chapter, and it isn't looking too bright for him in my story plans... Did you like future!Percy? There's also quite a few more characters that have travelled back... but that's telling, isn't it? ;) **Bright Yellow Angel Halo** - thank you! **Semperfi1** - it's no fun knowing sane people; glad you like it! **prince of the seas** - I've considered it, but I find it a pain for people who try to read on mobile devices. The scrolling is a pain in the ass. **Starstryker97** - _you're_ awesome ;) **franz955** - thank you! **Guest** - I tend to do that a lot. **aesir21** - thank you! I think I will sometime. It sounds like an interesting movie, and I'm glad you liked last chapter. I really don't like those stories when you already know what's going to happen chapters in advance. It takes the fun out of reading. **wisdomsdaughteriscrazy** - fear not, it hath arrived! **IroncladCrow** - thank you :) **DeathmatchDrunkard** - ah, but that was in the "future," was it not? Meaning that the same may not happen again. Nico and Thalia weren't possessed. Don't worry! Time travel will be a mystery, but it won't be a tangled mass of badly hashed together plots. And who really knows with Octavian? Percy's setting a lot more things into action, this chapter, for better or for worse. **Guest** - why, thank you! **Clefspear** - thank you; if there's anything confusing, don't hesitate to ask. **Kitty Qin** - thank you! I've just published the story, if you want to see it :) **WideOpenSpacesGirl045** - thank you :) I'm trying not to bash Richard insensibly, but it is so very hard. He's just so detestful. And it is still Percy/Reyna, don't worry! I'm not much of a Jason person, to be honest. He's a little bit like a wannabe Percy, in my opinion ;) **Username1576** - thank you! Don't worry, chapter lengths stay the same. I agree with you, though. It's quite annoying when you have to wait so long for an update, and you get about 1000 words. **FiftyPoet** - I'll try to speed things up a bit :) **reachyourdreams** - thank you! And yes, it's still Percy/Reyna. I have an odd fondness for this pairing, even though I'm not quite sure why. **Guest** - but that's the entire point! **Intellectually** - thank you! Am I the only one that hates pointlessly overpowered Percy'ies? And somehow, thousands of years of training aren't even mentioned, but he becomes this person that can defeat the Olympians with one hand behind his back and blindfolded, while somehow managing to steal Artemis' first kiss... oh, and also, thank you for reading my other story :) Priority will still be on Blackened Dawn. **Darkmoon111** - cookies! I do thank you. This story was written in an attempt to break the trend of cliches in Chaos fanfictions. I'm glad you like it! **HonestTreachery** - it's not a real language. It's a bastardized version of Latin, Greek, English, French, some German... basically, any language I know even wisps of. The runes are from Norse mythology. For example, Tiwaz is the rune for the sky god Tyr. I do believe some people still practice runic religions, but I'm not one of them, so I'm not made privy to how these things work. The correlations and chains part are solely imaginative. Eventually, however, I'm going to have Percy start making his own runes. **Guest** - ...I see you don't like him very much. **Guest** - (smiles mischievously) **Guest** - that's right! **Aaaaaaooooo** - Did you really think he would get off so easy? Nah, he's going to have a long, drawn out demise...

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><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>"Quoth the Raven, <em>Nevermore<em>."

**Chapter IX  
>Tiwaz<br>**↑

_Rune for justice, fairness, honor._

* * *

><p>The Vault of Ashes is a <em>prison,<em> built upon blood and bone sacrifice to contain a megalithic being—one with power enough to level all dimensions in a single flick of his hand. He is one of the First, one more powerful than Order, Chaos, or even Death herself. And some say he is insane from isolation and power-lust. Others say he is only a myth. Whatever the beliefs, all beings agreed on one law: he is _never _to be released into the world again, lest it be destroyed.

The Vault of Ashes... better known as Tartarus.

_—Hesiod, Theogony (Solaerius' imagination)_

* * *

><p>Order traced the raven brand with one trembling finger, as if to convince himself that it was really there. Its piercing eyes seemed more alive than Order would like to admit, peering into his soul, judging him.<p>

And for the first time in millennia, he felt fear.

For he had recognized the face, as utterly destroyed as it was. After all, he had seen it alive and well only a few hours ago. It is—no, it _was_ one the head of his most trusted scouts. He had sent him to the Battleground of Souls to _'keep an eye on things.'_

Order dropped the head and backed up, watching as it rolled away face up, so that the hollow eyes stared blankly at him, a trickle of blood wetting the corners.

Gradually, Order began to hear the rapid thud of feet slapping against flagstones. The door opened in a burst of sound. Acting on instinct, Order had the intruder pinned against the wall in mere seconds, his arm shoved roughly under his chin. A knife tickled his temple, the edge unfathomably cold.

The servant boy's eyes were wide. "S-Sir!" he squeaked.

Order exhaled slowly, letting his hand drop.

"Do not sneak up on me, child."

The boy fell to his knees against the rough carpet, prostrated to Order's presence. His entire body was shaking like a leaf caught in a maelstrom.

"Sir... sir, you have to come see...!"

An ugly knot of premonition formed in his stomach.

A raven's brand was carved meticulously onto his door with fire, and below it, several words were written. Infamous words that had been spoken so long ago by an equally infamous immortal.

_You can run, but you cannot hide from me forever._

_I will get you._

Shaking —but with fear or anger, he wasn't sure— Order barked at the servant, "Fetch Aether and Nyx." When it looked like he was hesitating, Order bellowed, "_NOW_!"

The poor servant let out a squeak of terror, and bolted away.

**Percy**

The shadows caressed him lovingly, and Percy remained in its clutch. His sharp eyes picked out Order's location as he roared, "PERSEUS! SHOW YOURSELF!"

Making sure that his hood was covering his face and that his left eye was illusioned to appear green, Percy stepped out from behind Order. His scythe gleamed silver in the dim light of the corridor; he had gone as Thanatos today.

He knew that Order suspected him (as Endless) to be Perseus, and the results would be disastrous if Order decided to act on his accusations. Therefore, he needed them to believe that the _first_ Perseus was Thanatos.

"In the flesh."

There was a spatter of blood as Percy was cut in half by Order's sword, and then his body burst into a cloud of shadows and water.

"Now, now, my _Lord_, aren't you glad to see me? I _was_ sacrificed under your cause, after all."

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Order spat, but Percy only chuckled darkly, projecting his voice from every direction.

"Am I? You have deluded everyone else with your deceptions so well that even you yourself have started to believe them." Ghosting behind Order, Percy brushed against his shoulder with a light touch. When the ruler spun around, his sword slashing at the point Percy had been, there was nothing there but empty space.

"You cannot kill what does not exist..."

Order was silent for a long time. Then he began to laugh.

"A well thought plot. Perseus is dead... _Thanatos_."

He found himself face to face with the cloaked figure, the scythe an inch away from impaling his left shoulder.

_"Ah..."_ Percy chuckled. "But if I were Thanatos, I wouldn't know all of _your_ dirty little secrets. You had spilled them to me... and I am the one who remembers... shall I announce them for the world to hear?" Turning his head, he fixed his sharp gaze on the seemingly empty wall. "Nyx, you may drop the illusion. I know you are there."

Nyx and Aether shivered, the night flowing from their shoulders to rejoin its brethren. They drew their weapons, but Percy did not flinch back from the hate in their eyes.

"Thanatos!" Nyx spat. Aether was silent.

"No," he murmured. "That's not Thanatos. His mannerisms are different. Besides, Erebus told us that they cannot exist at the same time."

Percy chuckled coldly. He had already thought of this. "If you go to his room now, you'll find that my _dear_ brother is... _incapacitated_."

Immediately, Nyx's knife impaled himself an inch from his head. It would have hit had he not dodged at the last minute. He found himself facing an irate and overprotective Primordial, one that was practically spitting fire.

"What did you do to him?" she snarled, like a lioness defending her cubs. "I'll _rip you apart!"_

Anyone else in Percy's position would have been dead, but he only laughed. Wiping the emotion from his voice, he said coldly, "And what makes you think you will be able to,_ sister of mine?"_

It was as if something in Aether's consciousness snapped into place, and he paled so fast it looked like he was going to faint.

"Your voice... you're Percy, aren't you?" he gasped out.

"But that would mean..." Nyx suddenly realized, "Perseus _is_ Thanatos... that's how you knew how to slip between our defences..."

"I'm surprised it took you all so long," he said mildly. Looking to Order, he said calmly, "Do you want to tell them how you killed me, or would you like me to?"

Order looked thunderous.

"Deceiver," he growled. "Do not believe a word he says!"

"I taste fear," Percy laughed mockingly. He threw back his hood, and they gasped as they saw the familiar dark hair and cold, venomous eyes. His lips curled into a thin smile. "Does the _great_ leader fear his _lowly_ subordinate?"

To Aether and Nyx, he whispered, "I did not kill Chaos... I _couldn't_..."

With a shout, Order threw his knife at Percy. It cut through his neck, and despite themselves, Nyx and Aether cried out in alarm.

Percy only gave them a sad smile and closed his eyes.

"—he was my father."

And with that, he dissolved into water and shadow, splashing harmlessly onto the floor, leaving only two shell shocked Primordials staring behind.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

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><p><strong>Olympus, Empire State Building, 600th Floor<strong>

Lupa's wolfish visage was uncommonly grim. Crouching at her place by Artemis' feet, she growled out, '_Athena has been captured.'_

It took a few moments for the message to sink in.

_'She was protecting the portal,'_ Lupa continued. '_It has been destroyed, along with the notes. The demigods have no way back.'_

"I never thought it'd be her," Ares grumbled. "She's a stubborn one."

"We _need_ the demigods," Hera admitted reluctantly. "We cannot rely on the group for help anymore. With no way to advise them or as a form of communication, they are as good as gone. The realm of the _Protogenoi_ are harsh, and even the strongest of demigods would have trouble surviving."

Hestia poked at the hearth with a stick, watching as sparks of embers flew upwards.

"What about... Percy? He helped us before. I do not think he would be inclined to help us again, after what we've done to him, but maybe he would do it to save his friends."

Artemis leaned forward, looking more interested than before.

"That is true," she said. "He's not as disgusting as the others... Father, surely you can free him from Tartarus? I know that it was Kronos who threw him in, but it would be worth the risk."

Collectively, all eyes turned to Poseidon. They fully expected him to be jumping up with joy. Instead, the sea god's countenance was smoldering with barely suppressed anger. The floor shook and he closed his eyes to steady himself.

"Percy... he's _dead,"_ he said flatly. "He killed himself."

It was as if a bomb had been dropped. Hermes slumped backwards as if struck, his face ashen. "I'm sorry..." he whispered.

Poseidon softened slightly, and shook his head.

"It's not your fault... if anything, it's mine, for not figuring things out sooner..."

Hestia was trembling, her large eyes brimming with horror and tears. She always had a soft spot for certain heroes. Pandora's jar trembled. Artemis slipped off her throne to comfort her.

"How... did this happen?"

Zeus was the only one who remained unmoved.

"Why do you care so much?" he sneered. "He's just a demigod. You can always have another one if you want, Poseidon."

Poseidon slammed his trident on the arm of his chair, roaring out, "You heartless wretch! He was my _son_! A million more children would not bring Percy back!"

Hera's eyes were downcast.

"He's family, Zeus," she addressed her husband, who looked at her with betrayal. He had expected her to back him up. "I don't like the little snot, but he was family and you could at least show some respect."

Ares grunted.

"The brat wasn't too bad," he said sullenly. "But I am Mars as well, and I guess... there's no honor in such a shameful death," he added quickly, when the others looked disbelieving.

Aphrodite smacked him with her purse, effectively shutting him up. The thing weighed several hundred pounds (it must be all the makeup), and Ares winced as it left a noticeable dent on his armor.

"Why do you all care so much?" Zeus thundered again, sounding genuinely curious. "My son, Jason, is as worthy a hero as your Perseus. True, the brat may have saved Olympus, but without Jason—"

Poseidon sunk back on his throne. His voice was suddenly calm, and the other gods winced. The sea god was always more dangerous when he was still.

It was the calm before a storm.

"So this just boils down to your petty rivalry with me, doesn't it, _brother?_ You have constantly tried to belittle my son to put yours in a better light. What if I threw _Jason_ into Tartarus to rot? Let him relive his nightmares over and over while Kronos has his fun in cutting him to pieces, both inside and out, only to heal the next day to heal so the process can begin again?"

Zeus slammed his fists down on his throne, and lightning split the air in two.

"He _deserved_ it! I did what I thought best! You have _no right_ to judge—"

He slapped his hands over his mouth, but the damage was done. Eyes wide, he watched as the other Olympians stiffened as though struck.

"...it was you..." Poseidon repeated faintly. Artemis growled, her eyes flicking worriedly to the sea god, who had fallen against the back of his throne in shock. Hestia was still. Her usually warm face was devoid of emotion. Somehow, that was worse than anything else she could have done. Hestia represented the warmth that lingered in the Olympians' hearts, and for her to be so _cold_...

"I asked Hecate to make a truth potion," Poseidon said quietly. His eyes were still closed, but Hermes could see the pure, unadulterated rage simmering beneath the surface. "I didn't want to believe... you were my _brother_... but I guess I'm not surprised."

"You _dare_—"

Poseidon's eyes finally flared open.

_"I dare!"_ he bellowed. "I dare because you are responsible for killing my _son_! He has done _nothing_ but save your sorry ass over and over... you play a _dangerous_ game, Zeus, one that has severe consequences that you will now reap."

He stood up, his trident crackling.

"You will not see me again. I do not know you anymore. _Power_ has corrupted you, and make no mistake... I will make you _pay_."

There was a rumble of the earth, and then Poseidon was gone, leaving the other Olympians staring bleakly at the empty throne.

Hermes was the next to stand. Bessie mooed sadly in his water sphere.

"He tried to save Luke, despite all of their grievances," Hermes said in a clipped tone. "I may not be as smart as Athena, but even I know that this isn't right."

"Tell me Poseidon was lying, father," Apollo begged. He looked so disappointed, an expression that Artemis wasn't accustomed to seeing on the usually exuberant god."You didn't do such a thing... did you?"

Zeus snapped, "Of course I _didn't_! Your uncle just wants to pin his problems elsewhere. He has always been like that, rash and irresponsible."

Apollo was quiet. Slowly, he slipped off his throne and stepped towards the door.

"You're lying." His tone was flat.

Artemis followed him silently, putting a hand to the crook of his elbow.

"He may have been a boy, but he was worthy enough of common respect," she said quietly.

They were gone in a column of light.

"Good riddance," Zeus sneered, but even he looked slightly shaken. Aphrodite blew her nose loudly into a pink lace handkerchief.

"Come on, Ares, we're going," she sniffled, wiping her mascara laden cheeks. The war god was going to protest, but she tugged harder on his hand until he obliged reluctantly.

Hephaestus followed. His crutches clunked unevenly on the marble floor.

"I told him I wouldn't forget. He saved my forge."

Dionysus took a long draft of his wine, swirling it silently in the ornate silver goblet. "Peter Johnson was annoying, but he watched out for Pollux."

Demeter sniffed. "He's too skinny," she complained. "Needs more cereal. And farm work. Farm work is a good way to go for punishments. Not Tartarus. It probably made him even skinnier. Now he needs even _more_ cereal."

Hera was bemused.

"He was annoying. I don't like him."

Zeus exploded, "Finally!" He pulled her in for a hug. "I knew you would see sense. You are _my_ wife, after all."

Hera pushed him away, an ugly scowl marring her face.

"I can think for myself."

She slipped off her throne, and the remaining Olympians disappeared into light.

Zeus was all alone.

Hestia was still tending the hearth. Quietly, she let the last ember fade into nothingness. She looked at him with such _sadness_ that even Zeus felt a pang of sorrow in his heart.

"I took care of you," she said softly, "all of those years. You were young, naiive to the world, but so heartbreakingly innocent. Where did that Zeus go? Where did I go _wrong_? I'm not sure anymore."

She slowly stood up, approaching Zeus with flame-filled eyes.

"Until you understand your mistakes, Hope will be gone from the hearth. She will always go with the gods, with us, not with Olympus. Understand me, little brother. When you are ready..."

She was gone in a flicker of fire, Zeus staring helplessly after her, his hands fisted in his lap.

Eleven empty thrones and a dead hearth looked back.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Ordis<strong>

Nyx burst into Percy's room.

"Endless!" she shouted. Aether pushed past her and knelt by the pale figure half collapsed against the wall. It didn't look like he was breathing. Beside him, a young boy with black hair and pale green eyes whimpered. His tiny hands were gripping Percy's hair, trying to shake him into consciousness.

Nyx gently took the boy in her arms, but as soon as she made contact, little Pontus shrieked loudly and began to struggle, trying to get back to Percy. She'd never seen him so agitated, and he almost succeeded in wriggling free, but she tightened her grip.

Aether brushed against Percy's neck, trying to feel for a pulse. He hissed and drew his hand back, watching as his fingertips smoldered black, before it was quickly restored to its healthy state.

Frostbite.

"Don't touch him," he said lowly, grabbing Nyx's hand to stop its motion. "He's so cold right now that he'll transfer his ice to you."

"Erebus..." she murmured in despair. "What did he do to you?"

"Get a medic," Aether said. Nyx began to rise, still clutching a screaming Pontus to her tightly, but Percy's hand suddenly closed around her wrist.

"Nothing..." a weak voice rasped. "It's alright, Night... I'll be fine..."

"How are you feeling?" Aether immediately asked, cutting off Nyx's surprised shout of "_Erebus_!"

Percy pushed himself up. "He knocked me out," he said faintly. "I don't... don't know how he was able to. Are you... alright? What did he do?"

Nyx was silent. Pontus seized his chance and jumped from Nyx's arms, barrelling into Percy's, who grunted in pain as he closed his arms around his already sore body. The little boy was sobbing loudly into Percy's chest.

Gently stroking his hair, he said in a soft voice, "Sorry for scaring you, Pontus."

Aether pouted slightly. "What about us?" he demanded. "You nearly gave Nyx a heart attack." _And me as well_, he added mentally.

Percy smirked back at them.

"You're my teammates. You should be used to this already."

Nyx scowled and crossed her arms. "Unfortunately not," she muttered. "Speaking of which, why is Pontus here?"

Percy shrugged. "I'm not sure. I saw Order yelling at him a few weeks ago. I had to give my report after a mission, so I stopped him. After that, Pontus began to follow me everywhere. Maybe he fancies me a meat shield."

"Well, what do you know. The ice cold Erebus actually has a heart."

Aether dodged the knife Percy threw at him with a yelp.

"Shut up," he growled half-heartedly. Nyx cocked her head to one side, her eyes flicking from Percy to Pontus, then back again.

"He actually looks like a miniature clone of you," she said in wonder. "And it looks like he's really taken to your presence."

"I can't imagine why," Percy grumbled. "He doesn't talk to me much. Just follows."

Pontus whimpered when Nyx tried to pry him off of Percy. The Primordial chuckled.

"It's fine, just let him stay here. He'll be back if you drag him away, anyways. He can pick locks."

Nyx scowled. "You're using him as an excuse not to go to the infirmary."

Percy grinned at her, and Nyx finally caved.

"Fine, fine. Aether and I are going on a mission tomorrow, at dawn. Take care of yourself, and try not to look for any more trouble."

"I don't look for trouble, it finds me on its own. What is the mission for?"

Nyx glanced around furtively.

"Your brother... Thanatos. Do you know that he's actually Perseus? And he said..." her face scrunched up, "he says that Chaos was his father and that he wasn't the one to kill him. But that would make him our brother, and by extension... you would be too..."

Percy shrugged unhelpfully. "I was asleep the entire time, so I'm not able to help you here. But I can tell you that blunt assassination is not usually Thanatos' style. If he truly wanted the throne, he could have convinced you so subtly that you would have _begged_ him to take the mantle."

"Yes, but do you mind—you know, us being your—"

"Not really. I've always wanted to have siblings—saner ones, that is. Thanatos has a brilliant mind, but he's also viciously scarred and it shows."

Aether cleared his throat.

"Nyx, we ought to get going. We have a long ride tomorrow."

"Good luck," Percy nodded back. "But I'm warning you: you won't find him. When he doesn't want to be found, it's nigh impossible."

"We'll see."

They were gone. Pontus' grip loosened. When Percy looked down, he realized that the little Primordial had fallen asleep against him. Sighing ruefully, he got up and awkwardly carried Pontus onto the bed. He whimpered and clutched onto Percy's hand, but he gently extricated himself from his grip.

Mentally, he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a close call.

He had just shadow travelled into his room when he heard Nyx and Aether wrestling with his door. Immediately, he threw an illusion over himself and dropped his body temperature, collapsing against the wall. He did feel guilty for making Nyx worry (who knew she was such a mother hen?) but it was necessary.

Percy looked at Pontus. He couldn't shake the fact that they looked almost identical, despite the fact that he was Order's son. They had the same black hair and facial structure. While Percy's eyes were darker, however, Pontus' were still light and innocent. He hoped it would never change. He didn't want to see those eyes darken with hate, like his own had over the grueling years.

Clambering onto the roof to spend the rest of the night, Percy watched the sun rise, throwing a blanket of soft golds and reds over the horizon.

Pontus was still curled up on his blankets, face pressed against the cloth. He seemed to be... purring. The Primordial shook his head in slight amusement. He let him sleep, and slipped out of his room, leaving the door open so that Pontus could leave when he woke up.

-o-

At breakfast, he stared at the fork clenched in his hand. From between the silver tines—like prison bars— he could see that Order's customary seat at the head of the table was conspicuously vacant. To the seats of honor at either side, Nyx's and Aether's plates remained untouched. Percy could see the lieutenants beside him glancing furtively at them in confusion. Some of the bolder ones turned to Percy to ask for an explanation, but he would tell them that Nyx and Aether were on a mission. His voice practically dared them to bother him more, and the other lieutenants got the message and shut up.

Percy left soon after. He saddled Dominus and rode out of the castle. The atmosphere in the surrounding city was tense, and the civilians bowed deeply to him as he passed. It made him uncomfortable, but none of his discomfort showed. He could tell that some of them were frightened of him more than anything else, especially because of the tell-tale slash over the left side of the faceplate.

When Dominus' hooves clip-clopped over the wooden drawbridge and into the outskirts of forest, Percy let himself breathe out a sigh of relief.

Of course, Fate decided to intervene at that moment. Something in Dominus' saddlebag wriggled. Percy froze.

"Pontus, what are you doing here?"

He was about to pull the boy out, but Dominus whinnied. His head jerked forward; his hooves thrashed against the earth, and the increase in velocity almost threw Percy off the saddle. He had to wrap one arm around the horse's neck.

"Dominus! Slow down!" If anything, Dominus went even faster. Percy held onto Pontus before he could fall off. "Dominus!" he barked out, using shadowy ropes to wrap around the horse's legs and flank, "Be _still_!"

The horse thrashed, but Percy had already restrained him. Leaping off the saddle, he deposited Pontus by a tree's trunk. Dodging the horse's flailing hooves, Percy caught the horse's head and forced it to gaze into his eyes.

"Whatever spooked you, it's gone," he soothed. Percy was struck by how human-like those eyes looked at that moment. Its gaze flicked to Pontus, and finally, it stilled.

Percy relaxed.

"Good horse," he said, releasing the bindings. Dominus looked affronted, and snickered reproachfully. Shaking his head, Percy remounted Dominus, lifting Pontus up to the saddle in front of him. Taking the reins in one hand, he set off in the direction of the castle.

He'd had enough adventure for one day.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder why Dominus had acted so oddly. He was a war horse. He had been trained to kill, to let his hooves fall to crush the opponent's skulls.

For a moment, Percy entertained the notion that the horse had been trying to kill him, but quickly pushed the thought away. He would have been able to sense malicious intent—a trait he'd picked up from being Thanatos—and the horse had none.

Percy dismissed it as a fluke occurrence, ignoring that little voice in his head that knew otherwise.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Battleground of Souls<strong>

"You imbecile," one of the Greeks hissed, smacking Richard over the head. "What were you doing, intentionally antagonizing a Primordial?"

Richard glared back reproachfully. "He insulted my abilities, Piper!" he spat back.

Frank muttered to Hazel, "What abilities?" and she grinned behind her hand. None of the Romans had particularly taken to the arrogant demigod.

Still, a grim mood settled over the group. Try as they did to ease the tension, the presence of three of the most powerful Primordials had shaken all of them, even Octavian, who was sitting to the side and cutting up stuffed animals.

"If Gaea's like _them_..." Hazel muttered restlessly. Frank shook his head.

"We'll get them to help us. We'll convince them."

"Hollow words," Reyna said flatly. "They do not look inclined to help. In fact, I'm half convinced that it would be best to head back. At least we can help fight off the invasion. There's only seven of us left—the nights have not done us any favors. We've lost about five warriors in the last day alone."

"They got Katie," Clarisse growled. "I'm gonna go and tear them apart."

"No," Reyna said coldly, restraining her with a clenched hand. "You will do no such thing."

Clarisse's eyes sparked with anger. She pushed past Frank, who stood protectively in front of his praetor, and growled threateningly, "You wanna say that again, _Roman_?"

Reyna didn't flinch, and tilted her chin defiantly.

"Clarisse," she said evenly, "be reasonable. We are in hostile territory, and you need to get a hold of your temper. It will get us all killed, and then where will we be?"

Clarisse grunted, but sat down reluctantly. Frank eyed her with distrust.

"Got a point, punk," she mumbled. "Where're we going, then?"

"There's a village very close to here," one of the Greeks spoke up. He had curly hair and mischievous, but sad, eyes. "I can smell the smoke." Watching as Reyna frowned, he quickly clarified, "Oh! I'm Leo Valdez, son of Hephaestus, and awesome fire user of the Greek camp, at your service." He swept out his arm in a dramatic bow, and Reyna smiled thinly.

"Thank you, Leo. We shall go there and hope for the best. I do not think we could survive any longer on our own."

"It's gonna be humiliating if even the civilians fight better than us. I mean, they've survived here for so long, so they must have some sort of trick. Otherwise, they would've been killed a long time ago."

Reyna accepted the point graciously. "Keep on your guard," she said. "We'll have to take that chance."

-o-

The village reeked of death. The narrow streets were deserted. Roughly built wooden houses and shacks lined the sides, and candlelight spilled from the cracks between the boards and from the open windows. All in all, it looked as though they had been dropped back into the medieval ages.

In the middle of the street, the road widened to accompany a square, where a large block of marble stood, looking very out of place amidst the rows of shabby houses. Half of it was chiselled, and Reyna could vaguely make out the outline of a human with glowing eyes and some sort of weapon held aloft in one pale white hand.

"Il sunt amistor?"

Reyna jumped, spinning around, the point of her gladius coming up to point threateningly at the speaker.

But it was only a decrepit old man, his back hunched over until he was almost bent in two. A walking stick was clutched in one gnarled hand, and his head was tilted up to look at them.

Not a ghost town, then.

Reyna lowered her weapon, but didn't sheathe it, eyeing him cautiously. The Romans in her group instinctively fanned out beside her, but the old man didn't seem perturbed at being surrounded by a bunch of warriors.

"May I help you?" she asked neutrally.

The old man's head tilted at her question. He gestured towards the marble statue, a faint pride glimmering in his eyes.

"Qzon ilst, est a Thanatos.".

"Thanatos?" She pointed inquisitively at the half-completed statue. The others glanced at it curiously. It did bear a striking resemblance to his twin brother, Erebus.

The old man nodded, looking pleased that she understood. "Aa. Est lague curan, genero de Syndel."

"Syndel," Reyna repeated, then pointed at the ground. The old man grinned emphatically, and pounded his walking stick on the cobblestones twice. His talking began to pick up speed, and Reyna could no longer figure out anything he said.

It sounded like he was trying to reassure them it was safe. But from what, Reyna didn't know, and she didn't particularly want to find out.

"Thank you." She inclined her head to the old man, who hobbled off down the street and was soon lost to sight. Turning to the others, she met their gaze evenly. "I am not quite sure what he said, but that statue is Thanatos, some kind of savior of theirs, and this town is Syndel."

"What are we going to do?"

"We'll stay here for the night. Tomorrow, we can look around and try to find some more information. Is this acceptable?"

The Greeks nodded.

"Where will we stay? I doubt they would just let us in without money or whatever they'd use to barter."

Reyna looked at Clarisse and shook her head. " We can try the church over there. Perhaps they'll have more information."

They followed the shadows, quietly lining up to cross the short distance to the church. Reyna raised her fist to knock on the solid crystal door, but it swung open on its own accord, silent and resplendent. The doorway was dimly lit, casted spinning shadows over the many terraces and spirals over the crystalline architecture. For such a despondent town, this building was breathtaking.

"Hello?"

Reyna's voice rolled over the narrow corridor. A bright light slanted vertically from an open ceiling, slashing bright streaks of light over the otherwise dark room.

It was a bit like the hole in the roof of the Pantheon. She had been there once before, along with some of the other campers.

Looking back, she could see that many of the Greeks hadn't even crossed the threshold, opting to poke their heads inside, wide eyes roving around for any kind of threat. Mentally, Reyna sneered. They thought they were protecting themselves, but in reality, it would be the easiest thing to snap all their necks at the same time in that position.

Jerking her head, she motioned them forward, giving them the 'all-clear' symbol. They followed silently as she walked towards the light at the end of the corridor. She could see motes of dust floating in the warm sunshine, sparkling like thousands of precious gems.

It was serene. Already, Reyna could feel herself relaxing. Something about this place felt safe, and she had learned through many battles to trust her instincts. Stepping out of the hallway, Reyna got her first glimpse of the insides of the church. If it could be anything like the outside, it was sure to be breathtaking.

And it did not disappoint.

The ceiling was high, much higher than it appeared from the outside. Craning her head up, Reyna could only just make out the murals painted meticulously on the gently sloping roof and walls. It was easily five hundred feet tall. Sunlight spilled in liquid pools onto the marble floor. From outside, the saturation of cherry blossoms was carried in by the roving breeze.

But the main attraction were the statues towering above them, their aquiline features rippling with life under the stony surface.

"Set un tatue jeyn?"

The demigods jerked in surprise, though Reyna was able to hide hers better. It wasn't the first time she'd been snuck up on in this dimension, and she highly doubted it was the last.

The speaker was a young girl, barefooted, wearing a simple white shift that swayed like gauze in the gentle wind. Her auburn hair was a halo around her head, catching the sun's light to resemble a wreath of flames.

She looked deceptively innocent.

"I am sorry," said Reyna. "We have come a long way, and would like to stay the night here, if it is acceptable?"

The girl's face scrunched up, her pale porcelain skin creasing.

"You... stay?" she asked in faltering English. Her accent was strong, but Reyna could understand her without too much difficulty.

"Finally, someone who speaks English! How come you understand us and not anyone else?" Clarisse burst out, her voice harshly loud in the ringing silence.

"You speak... old language. Forgets—forgotten. To time. To pebbles... people. Forgotten to people. We remember. The _protogenoi_ taught us. Long ago."

"Would the Primordials understand us too?"

The girl shook her head, messy curls bouncing with every movement.

"Only some. Aether, Nyx, they speak little. Thanatos— he is fluent." She pointed at a statue of a hooded figure with a scythe gripped in one slender hand. A half-smirk dominated what could be seen of his face, and even though his eyes were in shadow, Reyna could almost feel them boring into her back. A scale hung from one of his long fingers.

The picture of justice.

"_That's_ him?" Richard sneered to Piper, who looked like she would rather be anywhere than next to him. "He doesn't look so high and mighty. I bet I could defeat him with one hand behind my back."

The priest child had radar ears. She pinned him under a fierce glare, one somehow capable of boiling water despite her usual happy demeanor.

"_Inicus lare sta sis!_ You... you would... not survive, silly civilian. He is powerful. Dangerous."

"Oh yeah?" he sneered back, looking slightly outraged at the sting. "What would _you_ know about power, _girl?"_

He made to draw out his sword, but just as suddenly, the girl was gone. She had been standing a few feet away, and reappeared with one vice-like hand crushing his wrist, already leaving purple marks against his burly skin. In her anger, she had slipped back into her native tongue.

"Gedwaem ist inue amor haet lon!" she spat.

It was Clarisse who summed up her thoughts and hissed in an angered breath.

"Richard, you fool; drop the sword! This is a church. We claimed sanctuary, and we don't know what these people are capable of. So unless you wanna die, do as she says."

Richard looked like he would rather spit in the girl's face, but he reluctantly dropped his grip on the hilt, letting the sword fall back with a thick thud. The mercilessly cold expression on the girl's face instantly melted away, and she skipped away, practically oozing rainbows and butterflies and sunshine.

"Bipolar much?" one of the Greeks muttered, but his comrades ignored him for fear of the girl's retribution. Reyna quickly changed the subject.

"What can you tell me about those three Primordials in the center?"

The girl's face brightened. "Left... Aether of the Day. Middle, Nyx of the Night. Right..." she hesitated, then leaned forward, as though she was condemning blasphemy just by uttering the name. "...Perseus," she whispered softly, her breath tickling Reyna's ear. "Of the Darkness. The Destroyer. General of ASPECTs. Killed in the Battle of Souls. Traitor, some say."

She quickly bit her lip, obviously swallowing back words she ached to say. Even though she didn't finish, Reyna could get the gist of what she was saying.

Reyna took the opportunity to observe the so-called traitor. The statue was entirely made of marble, but she didn't need colors to tell that he was handsome. His hair was wild, and it fell in front of apathetic eyes. Even in the statue, he seemed... haunted. Like that of the old war veterans that practically begged for death, for the memories and nightmares to _end._

Reyna turned away from him. She didn't want to see any more.

In her silence, the other campers had started to ask questions that the girl was only too happy to answer. She was like a walking, talking encyclopedia with information on these elusive Primordials.

"Who's that one?" Frank pointed at a tall, willowy woman that had a shield strapped over one arm, her entire body slightly crouched, as though she would spring out at any moment.

"Thesis," the girl replied. "Primordial of Redemption. Thrown off by Chaos. Don't know where she is."

"What about that one, with the sallow looking face?"

"Tartarus. Accused for... treasure—treason. He was accused, for treason. Banished."

"So the one beside him would be Gaea?"

"Yes... they were lovers. Had big babies. Very, _very_ big babies."

"What about that one, the one in the corner?"

The girl finally hesitated, her smile fading.

"Not known. Hasn't been seen for... almost twenty thousand years."

"So he's basically an anomaly?" Frank interrupted, bemused. The girl looked utterly confused at his vocabulary, but nodded faithfully.

Reyna didn't hear them. Her eyes were fixed on the Primordial. He looked frighteningly similar to Perseus, the Primordial of Darkness, but one of his eyes were slashed and colored slightly darker than the right.

Reyna suddenly asked, "How do you know he exists then?"

"Saved Aether, many eons ago," the girl said, wringing her hands. "After Perseus was declared... traitor, dead. Aether was unstable. Careless. Almost died."

She recognized the statue. She's seen the eye coloring only once before.

"Do you know where we can find them?"

The girl shook her head vehemently. "Don't go. Bad place. Order has tournament. Very brutal. Will be killed."

The demigods looked at each other.

"Would you mind if we stayed the night?"

The girl nodded eagerly, her hair offsetting the dying sun.

"Company! Of course."

The Greek with the uneven hair put into braids spoke up. Piper, Reyna believed her name to be.

"Would you have some kind of translation spell? It's going to be difficult talking to people when we don't have any clue what they're saying."

The girl thought for a moment, before her eyes lit up. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Not very accurate. Only helps."

"That would be wonderful."

She placed her slender hands on the daughter of Aphrodite's head, right above her temples. Her shift's sleeves slipped back to reveal thin, almost bird-like wrists.

"Ansuz," she whispered.

There was a flash of bright light between her hands. Quickly dropping her arms, she formed a symbol that resembled an "F" in nature. But instead of slamming the formation into the ground, like she'd seen many others do, she pressed her hands together, forcing the light to compress into a tiny ball. It was obviously being held against its will, quivering with raw energy.

And then the girl let the light expand in a wave of sheer power. Bracing herself for the pain that was sure to follow, Reyna slowly blinked open one eye when nothing registered. She came face to face with the priest child.

"Better?"

Reyna nodded dumbly. "Yes."

She meant to say yes, anyways. What came out of her mouth sounded foreign and slightly alien. The girl giggled at her accent.

"Ista riiyra lium ara omnes?"

_'Can you understand me?'_

"I can," Reyna said, a little bit awestruck in spite of herself. Turning to the others, she fumbled out in the native language, "is it working for you all?"

"Yeah," Clarisse muttered. "I think so."

Frank suddenly spoke up. He had been silent for a long time, so long that Reyna had almost forgotten he was there.

"One last question. Is Thanatos that statue outside?"

She nodded.

"It is. He saved our village from certain destruction. There was a plague, almost a year ago. He found a cure and gave it to us, restoring our village. Syndel is very important, you see. We are on the embankment of two large transport rivers, so if one were to infest our town, those transport lines can't be used anymore."

"Biological warfare." Clarisse sounded impressed in spite of herself.

The girl hummed in agreement.

"You should sleep. It will take several days to reach the border, and you may not encounter many villages along the way."

Reyna bowed to her. "Thank you."

She was gone.

-o-

As the early morning light filtering through the treetops, it was easy to pick out which one was the road to take. The path was well-worn, bearing the marks of chariot wheels and horses' hooves.

"Do we _have_ to walk? I just—"

The Greeks only looked tired. The Romans looked torn between disgust and wry amusement.

"Richard," Clarisse interrupted. She looked like she wanted to smite the arrogant son of Poseidon into a pile of goo but didn't want to get him on her knuckles. "It's morning. I'm not a morning person. Now shut your yap before you eat dirt."

"Does this always happen?" Hazel muttered to Piper, who nodded fervently. "His whining could rival Octavian's, and that's saying something."

"Your Octavian must really be something, then," she whispered back, and the two of them broke off into quiet smirks.

Reyna suppressed a sigh.

Gods help her, this was going to be a long trip.

-o-

Three nights had passed since they'd left the sanctuary of the church. A painstakingly long time, if you asked Reyna, but at least it gave her a chance to sort out her rather tangled emotions.

Or rather, Jason.

Why had he kissed her? Did he... _like_ her?

The thought was alien. Reyna was never much of a particularly girly person, and never even gave the thought of someone _liking_ her _that_ way a second.

But something in her heart tingled irrevocably at the thought. She remembered her words to Jason when he had first been elected about how praetors were often involved with romantic relationships with each other. At the time, she had chalked it up to curiosity.

But had it been something more?

Her attempts at unraveling her emotions had gone worse than expected. Instead of a few knots, there was now a giant snarl lodged in her chest. Shaking her head, Reyna mentally berated herself for letting her mind slip away from their current situation.

"We're almost there," Frank muttered. "After we cross that river, we should be fine."

"Richard, now's your time to be useful. Lift the river."

"_What_? You crazy, Clarisse? That's impossible!"

"Ha, you chicken? Percy did it with Lethe water when he was younger than you."

"Percy?" Reyna asked, noting how Richard scowled darkly at the name. Competition, then.

"Yeah," Clarisse nodded, "he was a son of Poseidon. Kinda our unofficial camp leader. But he's gone now. He killed Kronos, but Kronos managed to get him in his last minute. I guess he's in Elysium now. Hope he's happy there. Some of the gods considered putting him up in the sky, like they did with Hercules. I'm not quite sure why they didn't."

"Sounds like an interesting person," Reyna remarked. Richard didn't restrain the scowl this time.

"Why does everyone keep talking about him?" he demanded. "Percy _this_, Percy _that_. I'm better than him, but even when he's _dead_, it's like I'm invisible to you or something."

"Richard, _shut up."_

Richard blinked, disoriented. Reyna flashed Piper a grateful look.

"Richard, if you're so great," Clarisse grunted, "then lift up the river. We need to get across."

"Fine," he muttered darkly, scowling.

Standing at the edge of the fast-flowing river, the son of Poseidon raised his arms with a heavy grunt. For a second, it looked as though the water wouldn't obey, but with a tremulous quiver, it rose to form a shaking arch of water.

Reyna raised her eyebrow, impressed in spite of herself.

"Let's go before pretty boy here drops it," Clarisse said, and the other five demigods followed her lead, ducking their heads to avoid the water steadily dripping from the top of the arch. Reyna hesitated. Frank turned back to look at her.

"Come on, Reyna!" he said. "It's fine."

Reyna pressed her lips together and stepped forward. The mud of the riverbank squelched beneath her feet.

Halfway across, there was a shout of alarm, and the water suddenly crashed down. Reyna spun around, but she wasn't fast enough. Hazel screamed her name, but it happened so sudden she didn't have time to blink. The water swept her up, sending her tumbling head over heels, and she slammed her head against an overhanging piece of rock. The current was relentless. It didn't care that she was hurt and couldn't breathe.

The last thing she felt before blacking out was a pair of slender arms wrapping around her torso.

-o-

She felt something gritty cutting into her cheek. Wincing, she tried to push herself up, but her arms were weak and wouldn't support her. Gasping at the sudden pain blooming in her head, she cradled her head against her open palms, as though the pressure would cause the pain to recede.

Someone knelt by her.

"She's awake!" Hazel shouted to someone outside. Lowering her voice when Reyna hissed at the volume, she murmured, "Are you alright? You took quite a nasty tumble there."

Reyna gritted her teeth together and pushed herself up.

"I'm fine," she ground out. "How are the others?"

Hazel actually cracked a small smile at that. "Oh, Reyna," she said fondly. "Always asking about others before yourself. We're all fine. Well, Richard has a bruise in the shape of Frank's fist on his cheek. He's avoiding him now. I think we're all kind of happy about that."

Reyna gave Hazel a small smile. Her headache was starting to recede.

"Who dragged me out? I faintly remember..."

There was a soft clearing of throat, and then a cool voice said, "That would be me."

Black hair, cobalt colored eyes. Aquiline features, a full mouth currently forming a slight frown. Her shoulders were set proudly, and thin armor wrapped around her like a second skin. The tips of several knives peeked out from behind her left shoulder.

"Remember me, child?" Nyx said coolly. Her footsteps were ghostly quiet. "I recall my brother telling you to leave this place."

Reyna paused. "Your brother?"

"Erebus," a second voice said. The owner melted from Nyx's shadow, his stark white hair a beacon in the darkness. "He is our half-brother."

"Aether," Nyx acknowledged. Turning back to Reyna, she said, "Since it seems like your group doesn't want to leave Ordis, you won't have to. You will be coming with us."

"We _were_ leaving before," Hazel defended. Nyx arched a delicate eyebrow.

"Do you take me for a fool?" she said acidly. "you were heading towards the Ranged Endless. The border is the other way."

"_What_?"

"You were given a warning that went unheeded. Now, your fate shall be Order's to decide. Nyx, if you would do the honors."

Nyx smirked, crooking up one side of her lips. She flicked her fingers, and immediately, Reyna felt something cold and slippery wrapping around her wrists and ankles, hoisting her into the air. Judging from the yelp Hazel gave, she was being given the same treatment.

"Reyna!"

"It's fine, Hazel," Reyna soothed. "Let it happen."

Something dark wrapped around her eyes, and she saw no more.

-o-

Gradually, Reyna could hear the tell-tale screech of metal clashing against metal. Mixed in with the roars of approval from a crowd of spectators, she knew all too well where she was. After all, she was _Roman_.

A gladiator fight. Were they going to be forced to compete? She felt sick at the thought.

Nyx removed her blindfold. It took a few seconds to adjust her eyes to the dark atmosphere. She heard a sickening squelch; the thud of a body slamming against stone.

She was staring down at a huge crater in the earth. The spectators were perched at the edges, and deep within the bowels, two people were fighting with fluid and graceful movements that made it look like a dangerous dance.

And it was fast. Once again, Reyna was reminded of her own inadequacy. While she may have been considered prodigious in the Roman Camp, here... here, she was no one. Not compared to them. _Never_ them.

One of them formed a chain of symbols with one hand, before slamming it on the ground.

Lady Minerva had done the same, but this Primordial made it seem like child's play. She remembered how exhausted the three gods had looked, but after strings of runic circles, he barely looked winded.

"Tiwaz—justice," he intoned.

The battle was already over.

His opponent tried to leap out of the way, but pale light siphoned of the glittering runes forming circles of archaic symbols interconnecting in a massive array. The resulting energy was so great that the entire arena was filled with harsh light that seared through her eyelids and burned an impression against her pupils. She could feel the light blistering her lips, cracking her skin under the onslaught.

And as soon as it began, it was gone.

The Primordial was kneeling with his knee pressed against his opponent's neck. He lay in the dust, groaning and rubbing his eyes uselessly.

"I... yield, proctor," he said grudgingly.

Nyx turned to face them all, a proud smirk pulling her lips up.

"This is only a fraction of our power," she said softly. "Do not become our enemies, for we will decimate you to the ground."

Piper was awestruck.

"That's... amazing," she whispered. "Destructive, but... beautiful."

"Oy!" Leo protested. "I'm destructive and beautiful too, but I don't see _you_ making googly eyes at me_, beauty queen_—don't hit me! I'm sorry, Piper!"

Piper smiled sweetly, sheathing her knife. "And don't you forget it."

"Nyx! How was your mission?"

The Primordial victor approached them, a boy maybe five or six old clinging to his back. He was laughing softly. Nyx smiled warmly, the first genuine expression Reyna had seen on her.

"Fine, Erebus. You were pretty impressive down there."

Erebus shrugged.

"Not really. I had to hold back. The proctor was practically spitting fire the last time because my explosion almost killed my opponent, who didn't learn that running away is an ideal thing to do when the ground's about to explode."

There were stars in Leo's eyes.

"So cool!" he gushed. Erebus faltered, eyeing him with some trepidation.

Recognition dawned. Immediately, his light-hearted attitude dropped away, and they were faced with the countenance of a killer. Nyx nudged him.

"Stop scaring the kiddies, Erebus."

Before Erebus could speak, a hand gripped his shoulder. Even through the blank mask, Reyna could sense his emotions shutting down at his touch, leaving only a cold, unyielding shell behind. It was sudden and frighteningly precise.

"Well done, Erebus. A performance worthy of my lieutenant."

Erebus gave the newcomer a short, clipped bow. "Thank you, my Lord," he intoned lifelessly.

Order nodded, seemingly satisfied. He turned to the demigods. "And who might these be?"

"We found them trying to cross into the Ranged Endless," Nyx said. "I understand that our mission..." she hesitated, her eyes flicking to Erebus before saying, "our mission had other _objectives_, but we have found no incriminating evidence."

"They are of no threat," Erebus suddenly said, surprising even Reyna, but his stoic expression gave away no clues to what he was thinking. "I recognize them."

Reyna suddenly had the impression that they were waiting for her to do something. Silently, she kneeled in front of the Primordial and raised her fist to her heart.

"My Lord," she murmured. "We are at your service."

"They lived in my village," Erebus clarified to Order. "Nyx and Aether can confirm for you that they found me in the Ranged Endless. I was attempting to find the remains of my village, but it seems that these warriors are the only survivors."

"We are all that's left to offer," Reyna edged carefully. "My father stayed behind to buy enough time for us to escape. He was the chief, and now that responsibility falls to me, my Lords."

"If it pleases you, Lord Order, I will be able to handle them. If Nyx and Aether wish to, they can help out when they are off duty."

"Of course we will, Erebus, you only need to ask."

Order's face was unreadable. "What are your names?"

Reyna dropped her gaze, hoping it would be taken as a sign of submission.

"I am Reyna. I have come with Clarisse, Richard, Piper, Leo, Octavian, Hazel, and Frank."

"Very well, Reyna," Order finally said. "I will allow you sanctuary, provided that you and yours answer directly to Erebus, and any internal disputes will be settled amongst yourselves. I will not have my soldiers embarrassing me. Erebus," now, he turned to the enigmatic Primordial, "I will expect you to train them well. They will be under your control, but I may borrow them from time to time."

"Yes, my Lord," he murmured. Reyna bowed.

"Thank you, my Lord."

As they left, Erebus gripped her forearm. His grip was cold, like ice. He leaned closer to her in the pretense of drawing up training plans, and murmured near her ear, "I have only bought you time. Make no mistake. The cover story is shaky, and is barely able to stand on its own legs. Order suspects, but has no proof. You will need to convince him of your own worth. Understand?"

Reyna nodded dumbly, her mind refusing to work at their proximity. But in the next moment, he had released his grip, gave her one last look, and told the demigods to follow him. Without waiting to see if they were obeying his orders, he ghosted out of the corridors, his cloak sweeping out behind him.

It was surprisingly hard to keep track of him. At times, he almost seemed to become _one_ with his surroundings, so that if Reyna wasn't actively looking for him, he vanished from her eyes.

Erebus led them through a labyrinth of narrow, twisting tunnels, through packed village squares and civilian crowds. Some places were decrepit with age, ivy twining around the white stones.

Finally, he stopped near an empty wall. He tapped several points, and sections of the wall glowed with runes and sunk backwards, forming a series of clicks reminiscent of a lock being unwinded. With a groan of megalithic stones and dust, a narrow doorway cracked itself open. Erebus bade them to enter. They filed in silently, and he closed it behind them, re-sealing the edges so that it appeared to be part of a wall once more.

When they were all silent and eyes were on him, Erebus turned around and leaned against the wall, fixing them under a piercing glare.

"You have not heeded my warning, and now it is too late. Unless you wish to die, you are now warriors of Infinitus, a peaceful town that had been burned down by raiders. It was hidden in the mountains. However, when it was destroyed, you came to seek your patron, who you have heard through rumors has awakened after millennia of slumber."

"Why are you helping us?" Clarisse demanded. "Last time I checked, you hated our guts with a passion."

"No, Clarisse," Erebus said calmly. "I hate the gods for what they have become. I do not blame you for your parentage. I will form my opinions on how you will act these coming days. Granted, it is for your own survival. If you wish to die, then by all means."

"You tried to kill me!" Richard screeched. "Last time, you almost cut me in half."

Erebus looked almost amused. "And I will do it again, but this time, I will not fail."

"...why do you hate the gods so much?" Piper asked quietly. Erebus stiffened, and he was silent for a long time.

"They are responsible for locking me in Tartarus for thousands of years, after I'd slain their worst enemies. I will admit that I was young and naiive back then, but they have so _kindly_ taken care of that for me."

Something in his eyes died, and for a second, Reyna could see the haunted persona that he truly was.

Frank tried to change the subject.

"How come you speak English?"

Erebus gave them a wry smile. "If you are a wanderer that is constantly being hunted at every given minute, you learn to adapt fast or die."

There was a heavy silence.

"Yes, enough about me. Sit down and introduce yourselves—Roman or Greek, it does not matter."

Reyna jolted in alarm. "You knew?"

"Of course. It was blatantly obvious. Even now, the Greeks are on the left, Romans on the right. You will need to learn to overcome your separations."

Leo jumped up. "I'll go first! I'm Leo, the counsellor of Cabin Nine, son of Hephaestus. I like to make stuff, my dragon Festus, and my friends. I would say Piper, too, but she would hit me, and I already have enough bruises. My dislikes..." here, his face darkened slightly, "are people who try to hurt people I care about, and being underestimated. Just 'cause I'm a son of Hephaestus doesn't mean I'm useless!"

Erebus nodded to him, the barest trace of a smile pulling at his lips. "Very well, Leo. Does anyone else wish to go?"

"I will," Reyna said firmly. "I am Reyna, praetor of Camp Jupiter, daughter of Bellona. My sister is Hylla, the queen of the Amazons. I like few things, I dislike many, especially pirates and... certain people."

"Why don't you go next?" Clarisse declared.

Erebus raised his eyebrow calmly.

"Very well," he said. He was still leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets; the picture of lazy grace. "I am Erebus... brother to Aether and Nyx. I am a Sentinel—an assassin. The rest is classified."

"He couldn't kill someone if his life depended on it," Richard sneered to Reyna, who looked like she'd rather kiss a frog than sit so close to him.

Erebus remained unmoved.

"There is a time and place for heroics, and it is not here. It is about survival. For example, Richard," he tossed a knife at the demigod, who yelped and caught it, "take my knife and kill yourself."

Richard looked at him like he was absolutely bonkers.

"What?" he shouted. "You're crazy! I'm not doing that!"

_"Do it, Richard."_

This time, there was something alluring about Erebus' voice that made Reyna weak at the knees. It was charming and eloquent, and suddenly, she knew that she would do anything he would command.

Richard's eyes were unfocused, and a thin line of drool dribbled down his chin. He moved the knife towards his neck, but before he could do much more than to scratch a thin, red line into the surface, Piper screamed.

"Stop it! He's charmspeaking you!"

"Silvertongue," Erebus corrected darkly. "It's a curse more than a blessing. I can tell you to kill yourself, or tell your blood to boil, and you would obey me without even a thought otherwise. You weren't bred specifically for war. You have more purposes than to kill or be killed. That is the difference between you and I."

Piper shivered, her face suddenly pale.

"That's... that's bad," she whispered. "All I can do is to make people give me cars and stuff."

There was a fire in his eyes, and when he laughed, it was devoid of its usual mirth or light-heartedness. Reyna could feel his cold aura radiating outwards, and she suddenly felt so very vulnerable and weak. She wanted to take a step backwards, to put more distance between them, but she couldn't quite bring herself to.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you, then. It is an... empty existence."

Her voice was dry as she whispered, "What you mean?"

Erebus only smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was one filled with bitterness and hate. Then he clasped his hands together and he dissolved into shadow and water, leaving only a small puddle on the ground as evidence of his presence, leaving Reyna staring at it with a pensive expression on her face.

Finally, Clarisse broke the silence.

"I think we may have touched on a sore spot."

"I think I'd be pretty mad if that happened to me, too," Leo remarked. "Honestly, I can't quite blame him for hating the gods."

"He's... frightening." Piper shivered.

Clarisse pursed her lips. "He kinda reminds me of someone... it's tickling at the edges of my memory, but I can't quite remember. The way he acts... I've seen it before."

"Perhaps we've seen the Primordials," Reyna suggested. "In different forms, maybe?"

"And who's that little boy that keeps following him around?" Piper mused. Leo looked thoughtful.

"I don't know, but they're facial structures and features are really similar. Maybe Darth Vader or someone came and cloned him like he cloned those creepy things in the white suits."

Piper scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Leo."

"We can ask him tomorrow," Reyna interrupted firmly. "For now, we should get some rest. I have the feeling we'll need it."

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Order leaned closer to the cloaked figure, whose light green eyes shone darkly at him.<p>

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What is?"

"Do not play fool with me, _νερό,_" Order hissed. "It is obvious that Endless is amassing an army. I do not believe his story for a second. He's dangerous, far more so than he lets on. And he is slowly but surely turning our own forces against us. Nyx and Aether are now compromised. I do not know how, but they are... complete once more."

The figure — _νερό_, he had been called— shifted to his other foot, the wind pushing his hood back to reveal his dark hair and icy expression. The shadows flickered around him like it was alive.

"What do you suggest we do?"

Order was silent for a long time.

"Convince him into our cause. If he refuses to be swayed... you know what to do. He is a thorn in our side for much too long—one that needs to be eliminated."

νερό knelt at Order's feet.

"As you wish_... father_."

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN** — I've dropped hints the size of the moon this chapter, especially on " νερό's" identity. He is not an OC.

As a side note, I've also published another story, called _Genesis._ I'm not going to add in a bunch of "shameless plugs." If you want to read it, it's there. To those who already have, thank you :)


	15. Exodus (Destruction)

**Author's Notes —** new title image—well, incomplete one, that is, and unlikely to ever be completed. It was an excuse for me to skive out of doing my theory work. That being said, I'm well aware that I'm a writer, not an artist, and I'm sure it shows. I haven't taken any lessons, so it's mainly my imagination in play.

Percy does have new armor, and it's a change for Part III that will be implemented in this chapter. He's wearing a half-mask, so that is why the left side of his face seems blank. You can't see details very well in 's formatting, so I've posted a deviantart account link on my profile page to anyone who wishes to see it in a bit more detail.

As a side note, many of you have noticed that though the pairing is eventual Percy/Reyna, there has not been much interaction between the two. There is a reason for that, and it is because Reyna is not a main character in Part II. Her importance is gradually ascended through Part III—and no, none of them will become almighty and powerful over one night. It's just not reasonable.

**Chapter's Notes —** If you think this chapter is abrupt, know that most of the secrets and unanswered questions were never meant for Percy to discover, but for Nico and Thalia. In regards to vepo's identity, I've added more clues for the currently clueless. Take the information with a grain of salt; nothing is quite as it seems. Some of you seem to have gotten his identity, but are missing a key part of who he is.

This is the last chapter of Part II. Before I have anyone railing on my case about how I ended this, know that it was made with logic. Flawed logic, perhaps; I'm not claiming to be perfect, but logic nevertheless.

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><p><strong>Review Replies— clefspear<strong> - well, we'll have to see, won't we? **Nomoreturningaway** - I do agree with you there. It's disappointing to wait a month or two for an update and only get around a thousand words. **Xuan tian Shang Di** - it was too blatantly obvious, so I used different wording and thus, vepo it was. You have the general gist, but there are some clues that will be added into this chapter; see if you can spot them! **Paradosso** - sure, I don't mind! Order's role is purely theoretical on my part. In Greek mythology, Chaos is assumed to be the creator and none else. But I always thought this a bit strange: their mythology is always made up of opposites. Nyx and Aether —night and day. Erebus and Hemera—darkness and light. And thus, Order was born to be the antithesis of Chaos. **Bright Yellow Angel Halo** - I'm glad you liked it! Thank you for reviewing :)** Leftover Meal -** If only everyone thought that way! After having written 10k chapters, it's odd for me to ready 1k ones. How is your rewrite coming along? **Moonlight Destruction -** none taken. I can understand why. **combinemanc** - thank you! **Starstryker97** - Well, I'm glad you think so! ;) I hope this chapter will be as awesome as the last, though most people will probably chase after me with a rusty spoon for the ending... **Intellectually** - you make me blush. Honestly, thank you. I'm really glad you enjoyed it; it's nice to know that people like what I write. The gods do make a reappearance here. The real setting of the entire story was never really Ordis, but Earth, and I do have a plausible way to transition the effects instead of the usual "I am sending you to earth to help the gods; no, you do not have a choice." Percy will eventually have to release his power in a fight, but it will most likely be to vepo, for he plays a role more sinister than it is let on in this chapter. In regards to vepo's identity, I've actually never thought that way before, but remember that Aether is Nico? Otherwise, you may very well be right. **mmcca167** - thank you! I'm glad you liked it :) **dreaming-of-the-rainbow** - oh, well, why thank you ;) Percy/Artemis is just too overused to the extent that it's just a bad cliché, and often very badly written—she's not going to jump his bones and have babies with him by chapter five. prince of the seas - that's probably true. I tried that once... it wasn't pretty. **wisdomsdaughteriscrazy** - fear not, the update has arrived! **JosephineSilver** - hello there! Welcome to Blackened Dawn, and I _am_ glad you've liked it so far. Truly, I am flattered. I agree with you about the cliche'd fics—there are so many loose ends to employ to create a plausible AU. I'm afraid I don't have fanpop, but I'll go over when I figure out how it works ;) **The Produca** - thank you! I'm glad you like it. On vepo's identity, I've added more hints, but remember—nothing is as it seems! **Menaphite** - the language is a mix of Latin, Greek, old English, some German, a bit of French... it's not a true language, but one made for the purposes of this story. Don't worry, they're mostly not saying anything of importance. The ancient runes do exist, and I've found that some people actually create runic circles on Samhain to worship their gods... I'm not one of them, so my knowledge is purely research and theoretical. **aesir21** - Richard has a much more important role to play than a bashing character, as unlikely as it seems at the moment. Otherwise, he would have been the first to die. **FrostOnFire** - wait no longer! It is here; enjoy! **Ehhhh blah -** there is going to be Percy/Death, as well as Percy/Reyna. It's a bit confusing to explain at so early a stage, but I promise it won't be one of those stupid 'soul bonds' or 'Reyna-suddenly-comes-into-inheritance' stories. **sk8rb33** - thank you for your input! I've sent you a PM, since it was a bit too long to put in here. **ghost800** - thank you! vepo's identity is elaborated a bit more in this chapter. **SiriuslyPink** - you have to remember, though, that I'm not RR, so my writing style will undoubtedly be different. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Some of it seems to show up in my works. **Username1576** - the unknown person's identity is put into more detail in this chapter. And no problem, I hope you like it! **WideOpenSpacesGirl045** - don't worry, Percy/Reyna moments are yet to come! Part II was meant to build the intensity of plot and to introduce the characters, so Reyna wasn't a very crucial figure. Part III is where it really begins—you'll see! ;) **FiftyPoet** - there will eventually be romance, though it's going to be built over a span of time. There will be Percy/Death for a bit, as well as Percy/Reyna, which is the eventual pairing. **tosun. cauthontireland** - thank you! I'm glad you liked it. **Atramentous StygianIron** - what can I say, great minds think alike! The chapter names are the names of a rune important to the chapter or what it represents.

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><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>He sees Tartarus in his nightmares.<br>_g=9.8 m/s^2_

**Chapter X  
><em>Exodus<em>**

Ɨƕ

_Percy's rune for destruction, ruin, chaos._

* * *

><p>νερό was a patient person.<p>

Indeed, some scornfully think him too patient. Some of his plots may take years upon years to reach fruition, but like any worthwhile change, it required time and a master manipulator's subtle touch.

After all, he did learn from the best, as loathe as he was to admit it.

Thinking of his old mentor made his lip curl in disgust. He had had such _power_, but he refused to use it. Even at such an early stage in time, when the world had not fallen into darkness, he did nothing but pull up the barest hints of his true inheritance.

νερό knew that he far surpassed him in every way. Where he looked up to the immortal once, he harbored nothing but hate now. Such weakness disguised as power; it made him feel sick and a bitter tang rise to his tongue.

There was a chess set resting against his knees, the smooth wood silky against his skin. The black and white pieces were equal in power, but the equivalence would soon change. He would make sure of that. His greatest strengths were not in his physical skills, but in his mental prowess.

Tapping one slender finger against his curved lips, he carefully picked up a knight and slid it across the smooth colored tiles. It struck a bishop out of the way, and he crushed it to dust in his hand, letting the grains sift through his fingers.

"Knight to D6," he announced softly. "I have made my move, _Έρεβος_. Your turn."

The greatest chess game in the dimensions had begun, and he was the grand manipulator behind it all.

_"T minus 1500 minutes and counting."_

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>T-1440 minutes<em>**

"… you can't be serious."

"Actually," she said in an altogether too cheerful voice, like she was enjoying Percy's undisguised horror, "I'm Nyx. You're Erebus, and you _will_ be wearing this."

"No, I'm not. My old armor is fine."

Nyx sighed in exasperation and slight amusement.

"Erebus, your old armor is worn and completely bloodstained. I don't think they will ever come out. You can't wear something so gruesome, not when there are so many foreigners coming to Order's castle."

Percy frowned.

"Foreigners? I was not aware we had guests."

"They came late at night, and begged Order for an audience. He's going to grant them one in the Great Hall, at breakfast time. Whoever they are, they may bring new jobs to us, and possibly allies. We need to show them just who we are."

"Intimidation works well when you're covered in blood," Percy scowled back. Nyx ignored him and shoved him behind the changing curtain, setting his new armor onto a hook on the wall. She'd taken his old armor and burned it, and unless he wanted to go out in his sleeping attire, he had no choice but to comply.

It was surprisingly well fitting—Nyx must have gotten his measurements from the tailor. The armor was much heavier than before, but still allowed for reasonable amounts of movement. The color scheme was dark; outlined with edges of color. It was made of stiffened leather with metal streaking through in fine veins of color, gold and silver twisting into intricate decorations. Percy could sense Nyx's hand in its development.

Thin metal was worked into the shoulders, overlapping and jutting out, making Percy seem more intimidating than he usually was, and not as gaunt. He pushed aside the curtain, ducking his head slightly to avoid the draping silken cloth.

"You forgot the cloak."

Percy took the soft, silky material from where it was laid out against the back of the chair and slung over his shoulders, pinning it to two buttons already built into his armor. It brushed the backs of his knees. Nyx stepped back and gave him a satisfied grin, crossing her arms smugly. She seemed to admire how well the armor fit him. When Percy grumbled under his breath, her Cheshire cat-like grin widened.

Aether took that minute to walk in. The door burst open in front of him, and Percy looked up in annoyance, his Sentinel mask still held flat on his hands.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to knock?"

Aether blinked owlishly, then shrugged his broad shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets. He was wearing new armor as well. It was brighter, more resplendent, but there were very little few changes in style. The breastplate alone looked like it could weigh the same as Percy's entire set.

"Shall we go meet our mysterious new guests?"

Percy closed the door and locked it with a careless flick of his fingers. He slipped the mask on, throwing the world back into dark images.

"Have you met them yet, Aether?" he said as they roamed the corridors, shadowlight flickering behind them.

Aether shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I was organizing the guard duty timetables. I keep feeling like there's a hole in the system somewhere."

Percy smirked at him.

"And you're sure that's not because of the guards getting piss drunk once a week?"

Aether opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off when they stepped into the bright illumination of the Great Hall.

The first thing that struck them was how uncommonly silent it was. Usually, it was filled with the raucous sounds of silverware clinking and laughter.

Order was sitting in his customary throne in the middle of the raised dais. The seats to his right and left were empty. Rows of long tables lined the rest of the room. In the middle, there was a wide strip of space that acted as a corridor to the dais, leading to a large semi-circle of space that the dais overlooked. The entire hall was saturated with light, shining off the walls to create the illusion that they were inside living gold. The ceilings were high and sweeping, with delicate arches supporting the sides.

It was grander than Olympus. While the palace of the gods was all cold marble and imposing stone, the Hall was filled with life and noise and laughter. But today, it was deafeningly silent.

Several figures dressed in increasingly familiar armor were crouched in a respectful bow in the space before Order's throne. One of them was murmuring something in a low voice, pleading. Order caught the Primordials' eyes with superior grace, nodded slightly, and raised his goblet in a toast.

Thousands of curious eyes turned from the front of the room to focus on them.

"Ah," Order cleared his throat. "Let me introduce you to some of my most trusted warriors. Come forth, Erebus, Aether, Nyx."

One of the gods had half risen, his dark green eyes —once so similar to his own—wide with faltering shock and slight hope. His mouth was slightly parted, and he was whispering things under his breath that Percy couldn't catch.

"Percy...?" he breathed. In an instant, the god was in front of him, his hands cradling Percy's head, as though really convincing himself that he was there. "Is that you?"

It was as though someone had dropped an anvil on him, and he took a step back. Immediately, as though sensing his discomfort, Aether growled in warning, his hand twitching as though aching to unsheathe his sword. Nyx glanced at Percy worriedly, and it was that look of confusion that brought reminded him of his new identity and character.

Turmoil raged. That miniscule part of him wanted to embrace Poseidon—his _father_. It wanted to cry with him, tell him that it was alright, that his son was here and still alive... not that shell of a person he had been in Tartarus.

But the dominant part of him _hated_ the gods. _Despised_ them, even. They used him and when the prophecy was fulfilled, threw him away. Out of sight, out of mind. Did they really think he would help them so blatantly after a few proclamations of innocence?

They would find that he wasn't that wide-eyed child any longer.

_(because he wasn't _just_ Percy anymore)_

"What are they talking about?" Aether muttered from beside him. Percy tore his gaze away from the assembly of gods and fixed them on perplexed blue eyes.

"I do not know, Aether."

The words weighed like lead in his mouth —not his most convincing lie—but it seemed to satisfy the Light Primordial.

The gods didn't recognize him. He would have been surprised if they had.

For he had changed. His eyes, once bright with life and happiness, was darker, with shadows underneath from lack of sleep. He was thinner, but taller, enough so that he was almost on par with Aether's height and taller than some of the gods.

But the aura he projected was the worse of them all.

It was... cold, with a wintry inflection. As if you could freeze to death just by being in his presence. Looking into his eyes was like looking into an empty void of nothingness. Of things eternal and endless—the heart of glacial ice. Poseidon's shoulders hunched, and another goddess came forth to gently grasp his arm, leading him back into the assembly of Olympians.

"I... I apologize, my Lord," he rasped, trying to quench the tremble in his voice that Percy pretended not to hear. "I..."

"Perfectly alright," Order interrupted. His eyes were scrutinizing when they landed on Percy, and for a long time, their gazes were locked. When he turned away, he seemed satisfied and oddly triumphant. "What brings you to my realm? As I recall, there were some disturbances on your dimension."

Poseidon looked surprised, but made up for it quickly.

"That is the reason we are here. Zeus may be too proud to ask for aid, but I am not. I know we cannot survive yet another war to this proportion."

One side of Percy's lips quirked upwards, but there was no humor in his eyes. It was scathing.

"Wise of you, but a warning, first. While some of us hold no ill will against our brethren, we do not turn against _our_ own. Bear this in mind." His last words were emphasized; a jab at the Olympians.

With his ominous parting words still ringing in the air, he clapped Aether on the shoulder and went to his seat at the lieutenants' table. Their eyes still followed him warily, but a distraction was enough to divert their attention for the time being.

The door burst open, and the demigods strolled in, looking very much like lost sheep. Clarisse and the Roman — the one they called Reyna, he remembered— led the way, and they were bickering. To be fair, it was more like Reyna trying to tune Clarisse out while she ranted about their situation and future plans. The rest of the demigods filed in silently, their wide eyes taking in every scene. Oddly enough, Richard was at the very back, the quietest of them all. Percy wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't blatantly in front of him.

Reyna threw out an arm, and Clarisse stumbled into it. The gods looked perplexed, but she flashed them a look of warning when Order's attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Lord Order," she murmured, pulling Clarisse down beside her. Turning to Percy, she dipped her head respectfully. "Lord Endless."

"Erebus is fine." Percy gestured for them to get up and to take a seat.

The silence was broken by Poseidon once more. The god looked uncomfortable, and Percy briefly wondered if he could feel the sheer power pressing in on them. They were outmatched, and it was blatantly obvious.

The wolf perched by Artemis' feet was staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. It seemed startled at his name, and its furry head was moving back and forth between him and Order, as if to draw comparisons between them.

"What is it you wish from me and mine, Olympian?" Order rumbled. His goblet was carelessly snagged between two long fingers, and he took another sip of amber liquid, his eyes fixed on the gods from over the rim.

"We cannot survive the impending battles against the _Protogenoi,_ my Lord. We only barely survived the Titans, and now, Gaea has joined with Tartarus. Earth will be _annihilated—"_

"And how does this concern us?" Order's voice was piercing. "We do not intervene in the affairs of mortals and the gods. This is the reason my _brother_ assigned you to Earth so long ago. _You_ are meant to be the protectors. If you are weak, then you will be destroyed and replaced with a stronger sovereign. This is the law of nature. The weak must fall, the strong will rise."

Percy winced at the abrupt statement, though it was only a twitch of his features.

"And what of the innocents?" Hermes demanded. "Must they suffer, too?"

"It was your responsibility to take care of them, to make them strong enough to defend themselves," Order replied scathingly. "We are facing an impending war from outlying nations, as well. We do not have the manpower to lend you our warriors when you have neglected your own development. You would do well to remember that."

Poseidon's expressions contorted. He seemed to be fighting back his own words.

"Gaea has Zeus' master bolt," he finally blurted out. "My foolish brother thought he could take her by surprise... she threw him in Tartarus and took his weapons. We do not know what she's attempting to do with it."

The Bolt.

"You're as good as dead, then," Nyx said flatly. She stood up, her chair skidding away on two legs and falling flat onto its back in a screech of wood and metal. Percy followed her example, clearing his throat.

"If it pleases my Lord, it is my shift to guard the borders by the West Gate. I must leave now, or risk leaving holes in our defence."

Order's eyes lingered on him longer than was necessary, but he dismissed him with a nod and a wave of his hand.

Percy left too quickly to see the gleam in his eye.

-o-

**_T-1279 minutes_**

Patrol duty was often something bemoaned upon. Nothing ever approached except for the occasional squirrel or whatever woodland creature plucked up the nerve to inspect the fifteen story high megalithic wall, complete with a massive watch-tower and a fire beacon.

Well, they didn't need that beacon now. The entire structure was a massive, burning brand. He had no doubt they would be able to see it from Order's castle, as far away as it was. As he leaped from roof to roof, the fire's light played off of his features in harsh relief, lending him an aspect of inexorable power that replaced his normal mordant countenance.

Not losing any speed, Percy vaulted over a crumbling stone wall. Half melted rebars jutted out of the burned surface like claws, ready to snatch the unwary. The stone under his left hand crumbled, and he slipped, his knee cracking against the rapidly deteriorating surface.

The sound echoed like gunshot.

Hissing out a curse, Percy pushed himself up, ignoring the twinge of pain his leg gave. His pursuers gave a jeer of triumph. He slammed his hand against the ground, knocking them down as tremors quaked the earth.

He arrived in time to see the last of the wall fall. The guards were most likely dead, their corpses buried somewhere under the rubble. It would be days before the ruins could be cleared, maybe even longer.

Screams were cut off when the earth itself exploded, scorching the world in flame. Percy could see runes glittering in the unnatural onslaught, flickering in and out as it raced towards the small village by the wall.

Runic fires cannot be extinguished.

Percy hit the ground running.

The stones paving the streets were jagged and rough. His entire body ached with exertion, and his footsteps, usually silent, were staggered and hasty. Blood ran down his face from a gash over his left eye, staining the already crimson iris and making it hard to see. The right side of his ribs were probably broken, too. It felt like someone had hit him with a transport truck at full speed. With every gasping breath, he could feel something scraping against his lungs.

Runic fire splashed of the burned remains of the western watch tower, illuminating the night in an unearthly green light. It was inextinguishable, and even as he summoned another bout of hellfire to block the incoming surge, he knew it wouldn't last.

"Get out!" he shouted to the civilians, many of which were staring at the massive wall of flames, petrified.

_(deer in headlights)_

His voice stirred some of them back into action, and the younger ones supported the elderly and children as they hurried them into a safer area.

With a startled hiss, Percy realized that the side of his face turned towards the fires felt uncommonly hot. His mask was melting, liquefying into a pool of porcelain that trickled down in milky white veins. He ripped it off and threw it away.

Beryl eyes blazing with its own fire, he muttered a string of words the civilians couldn't understand. The language was old, but oppressing in might.

With his blood, Percy smeared his fingertip against the ground, drawing out a simple rune. It was one of Erebus' inventions, one of the only ones Percy could remember, but dead useful. The drawbacks were the massive energy loss and long ritual of words needed to activate the rune, however simple it was to draw.

"Exodus—_flee_," he intoned, a wintry inflection in his words, each syllable stretching in diaphanous ways.

The lines of blood began to glow with opalescent luminescence, shrouding the world in impending darkness. Wisps of darkness curled in blue smoke, billowing together to form a shadowed animation of a giant of darkness several stories tall. Its eyes, mere pinpricks of light visible on its massive head, turned towards Percy, who was half kneeled, half collapsed against the array. An arm was wrapped around his gut, like the amount of energy needed physically pained him as it was torn away. With his other hand, he waved in the general direction of the invaders, managing to wheeze out a command.

"Go."

Even without a physical face, Percy could've sworn it gave him a grin —albeit one filled with malice and sadistic pleasure. With a thundering roar, it bellowed and raised its club, smashing and crushing the invaders, leaving them mere smears against stone floors. Percy grimaced and covered his ears with his hands, crouching to avoid the hundred-miles-per-hour winds threatening to toss him like a rag doll.

He could feel his core seeping away, trickling into the rune sustained by blood sacrifice. The reservoir was almost completely drained, and Percy knew that the Exodus would turn on him if that happened. It was mindless and obeyed only those who gave it energy as payment.

"Stop," he croaked.

Amazingly enough, the juggernaut paused with one foot still in the air, poised to squash another like a bug. He wasn't sure how it heard him over the shriek of the cutting winds circling around its form like a cyclone, but he supposed they must have formed some kind of link.

"You're free to go," he bit out shortly.

He could feel the Exodus' primal confusion. It grunted in dissatisfaction, and for a moment, Percy thought it was going to break loose. But then it bowed stiffly to him, dispersing into wisps of darkness, torn up by the screech of the winds.

Percy stood in the epicenter of a destruction.

The runic fire had been smothered. What little that remained of the city was in shattered ruins. Percy sincerely hoped everyone had gotten out in time, but he was not naiive enough to believe so. The surviving civilians were behind a hastily erected barrier made of concrete blocks and whatever rubble they'd managed to find. Some stared with awe, others with terror.

The invaders themselves hadn't fared much better. A few were picking themselves up—the ones outside the blast zone. The closer ones weren't so lucky.

"By the Void," one breathed, his face smeared with ash and dust. His pale eyes were wide.

"Arianna… wasn't that…?"

A woman with gold-spun hair and cinnamon eyes was looking uncommonly pale. Her gaze darted from Percy to the knife clutched in his hand, and then back. Slight recognition. A minor immortal, then.

"Yes…" she whispered, so low that Percy almost didn't catch the words. "It was _his_ invention. No one else knew how to…"

One of the soldiers almost swallowed his own tongue. He vaulted himself up from a crouched position and charged Percy, heedless of Arianna's cry of warning. A heavy axe was thrown over his right shoulder, mimicking a baseball bat. He looked absolutely terrified.

Arianna's shout of "Do not engage!" was drowned out by the fear filled cry of "For Chaos!"

Percy stumbled.

_Chaos_?

With one hand, he caught the flat of his blade. In the same motion, he lashed out, striking his palm against the boy's temple, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap of broken armor.

"Chaos?" he demanded. "What do you know of him?"

Arianna spat at him. "I'll never tell you!"

Percy growled low in his throat. He didn't have time for this. He needed to know if there had been a leak in information, and if so, to treat the matter accordingly.

_(no loose ends)_

"—then you leave me to choice. And for that, I am sorry."

He thrust out his hand, two fingers extended in a twisting motion, bringing his arm closer as if trying to grab something unseen. Arianna's eyebrows drew together, her face still a rictus of loathing and hate.

"What are you—oh, by the Infernal… _no_…"

She lost consciousness, clawing at her face with her nails and screaming terribly. Her breath was coming in sharp gasps; she gave out a whimper, curling up as though trying to block the images.

Percy watched her with sad eyes. As Thanatos, he was able to manipulate the reality into one's worse nightmares, be it a memory or their deepest, darkest fears. It should not affect him, but there was a part of him that still sympathized with never ceasing nightmares that replayed over and over and…

He broke out of his thoughts with a merciless grimace. Moving with fluid ease, he knelt by the downed Primordial. The ragged edges of his cloak brushed against his shoulders, curling inwards in a font of tattered cloth and seared edges.

He gently took her head between his hands. She whimpered again.

"Tell me about Chaos," he soothed. "And it will be alright. The images will go away."

She was resilient. Percy had to admire that. She refused to speak, her lips pressed tight together. It took minutes of coaxing, but she succumbed to him, pulling him closer as though taking comfort in his embrace.

"Order's manipulating us," her voice was shaky. "C-Chaos… he wasn't poisoned by… Percy."

Percy felt an icy lump drop into his stomach.

"How do you know?" he demanded as loud as he dared, careful to keep out of earshot of the civilians.

Arianna shook from exertion. She looked as though she was about to speak, but all that came out of her throat was a strangled gasp. Her breath cut, her body sagged in Percy's arms like a rag doll, head lolling against the crook of his neck.

Inhaling sharply, Percy felt for a pulse.

There was none. She was dead.

-o-

**_T-1140 minutes_**

Shadow travelling was like dropping onto another plane of existence, this one underneath the world and much more difficult to navigate. You must have a specific point in mind. Otherwise, the shadows of trees all look the same, and you could end up halfway across the world when aiming for a tree not even ten meters away.

It also gave another perspective to the world, one that was composed entirely of blacks and whites and greys. There was no color, no life. Time itself seemed to slow down, and distance was but a number. Percy could take five steps and find that he'd travelled five centimeters or five miles. It was precise, methodical, and depended entirely on your destination.

Taking a shuddering breath, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He had been so _close._ That girl—Arianna—she was most likely part of an organization. For Chaos, perhaps? But he knew for a fact that Chaos was still where he had hidden him.

_But the others don't know that_, another part of his mind whispered insidiously.

And whoever the Chaos-impersonator was had taken pains to keep it that way. It was alarming to realize that a poison had been created, one that could take out an immortal with ease. Albeit she was a minor one, but an immortal nonetheless.

Percy dropped silently into the real world, landing in a cat-like crouch. One hand grazed against the ground before he was able to regain his balance.

He missed the mask, as cloying as it felt. He missed the anonymity it offered—but really, they all knew who he was. It was infamous.

There was something sticky obscuring his vision. He brushed his fingers across the cut on his forehead and winced.

Playing absently with the thin knife in his hand, he scanned his surrounding for threats before beginning to move in the general direction of the castle. He needed to be back before nightfall and give his report. Repair and emergency crews needed to be sent to the Gate, and retrieve the bodies of those fallen.

Night was coming. Oddly enough, the sun seemed to dip just above the horizon, hesitating, waiting for something else to happen. After a few tense hours of walking, he finally let his tense muscles relax slightly. It was probably just his nerves acting up—no... there. A sudden snap of twigs.

His knife passed straight through the milky white apparition. Cold dread replaced the wry vexation.

"Percy…"

The voice was horribly familiar.

"Percy, look at me… look at what I've _become…"_

The body was riddled with holes, each one gushing forth a fountain of blood. Percy was brutally reminded of the legend of Julius Caesar, of how his wife had dreamt him like this the day before he died.

"Thalia…" he whispered.

Empty eye sockets came to rest on him. There was an odd bump in her neck, as though it had been snapped clean through. Black hair stood up on end, matted with blood and dirt.

"Look at what they did to me…"

Thalia's dark hair turned sun-kissed golden, streaked with grime and ashes.

"…and you didn't do a _thing_ to stop them…"

Annabeth was wearing a white sundress, her arms and legs bare. Percy could see countless bruises and cuts littering the porcelain surface. Her eyes fixed on hers, and her mouth twisted into a sardonic, mocking smile.

"…how are you, baby?"

Percy was shaking badly.

This was what he'd seen in Tartarus, over and over and over for years on end. He thought he'd barricaded this part of his mind. He'd thought he'd overcome it.

"Annabeth… you're not real," he rasped.

Cold grey eyes fixed on him. Her slim fingers curled over the hem of her soft dress, slipping it off one shoulder and pulling down the neckline. Percy could see a hole ramming through her chest, still oozing thickly.

"Can illusions hurt?" she asked quietly, letting her hand drift back to her side. "Because it does. Every moment. Every breath. You told me we would be together forever. You lied… you lied to me like you always do. And I believed. For a daughter of Athena, I'm so _stupid."_

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the images of blood and battlefield and Annabeth's prone body, lying haphazardly on the ground, quietly angelic.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

"Sorry doesn't bring back the dead, baby."

The endearment was like a slap in the face.

"You're not supposed to be here... Annabeth."

A cruel smile.

_"Ahh,"_ she cooed. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you? _Thanatos,_ harbinger of Death, they call you… I hear the spirits. But you've _forgotten_ about me, have you not? Forgotten how you left me to die, alone on the battlefield? I… who had saved you so many times, abandoned for a few demigods that typically treated you like the scum under their shoe when it was convenient for them."

Percy exhaled slowly.

"What do you want?" he said, his slumped form radiating bone-deep weariness. Annabeth tilted her head to the side, making her blonde locks brush against his shoulders. Her hands, ghostly yet somehow corporeal, wrapped over his shoulders and clasped in the front, tracing little circles onto his chest.

"What _I_ want? Oh, no, it was never about me, was it? You are the one who killed me, Seaweed Brain. You got tired of me and threw me out like a toy… I would have forgiven you, had our situation been reversed. But you never thought about that, mm? You caused my death. And yet, you can also bring me back—oh, so easily. But you don't. You leave me to suffer slowly. Did you know it took me hours and hours to bleed out? Death wasn't kind to me, and you never bothered to check."

Something about that statement felt wrong, but he couldn't remember—his mind was cloudy and he couldn't think.

"They have me hostage," she whispered, her fingers trailing tantalizingly along the low neckline of her dress. "They want me. They want you. It's always about you… I'm only the means to the end… and it hurts…"

Percy swallowed down the heaviness in his throat.

"You're lying," he croaked out. "No one can chain the dead. It's impossible."

There was a slow, mocking pause.

"For all of your lauded intelligence, you're still stupidly ignorant. Tell me, Seaweed Brain, when's the last time you saw Death?"

Percy opened his mouth to answer, but closed it when he couldn't think of an exact number. Months? Almost half a year or so?

"See?" Annabeth smiled triumphantly. Her eyes glowed like it often did, especially when she was able to prove Percy wrong about yet another one of his notions. It was often tempered with humor and love, but the hate in her eyes destroyed the image.

"Zeus has fallen. Gaea has the Bolt. The Olympians are in hiding. Death has been chained."

Percy's head snapped up at the last one.

"What?"

"Funny how you aren't so alarmed about Olympus haven fallen, but when it comes to your so-called master, you're like a puppet on a string, so easily manipulated. Poor, deluded little Percy," she cooed mockingly.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Oh, baby," she shook her head. "I cared for you, even after you betrayed me. But they took me, and they took my soul and a piece of me I can never get back. Gaea wants you to know. It's personal, now. You can't escape her. No one can."

This wasn't supposed to happen. Percy could feel his breathing race erratically, hitching in his throat. He couldn't concentrate.

A soft, cold touch caressed his cheek.

"Did I break you?" she purred, tracing one icy finger over his lips, poking him teasingly on the nose.

Percy's eyes narrowed. Some semblance of coherence returned to his head, and he controlled his heartbeat down to a more normal rhythm.

"You're not Annabeth, are you?" he said stoically. "Ghosts, chained Death or not, cannot touch others, even if I am Thanatos."

Annabeth faltered, and a wide grin pulled her rosy lips apart.

"So you figured it out."

The voice was deeper, raspier than the daughter of Athena's. Her body remained the same, but her face changed into one of decay. The skin was grey and peeling apart at the mouth. Gleaming white teeth were stained with blood, and it looked like the Siren had just been feeding.

_(on his despair)_

Percy hissed in anger.

How _dare_ they use her form to goad him. She was his strength, just as she was his weakness, but she was _his._ They couldn't _have_ her. They already had everything else that he cared about.

"A Greater Siren, correct?" he growled, drawing his swords and setting into a ready crouch.

"Good job, baby," it murmured sultrily, in Annabeth's voice.

He swung the sword around his finger, spinning it around in a deadly arc of silver, before he clenched the hilt in a downwards grip. A surge of anger seared through his nerves, making Percy's hands shake. His eyes glowed with unearthly fire, promising death and torture at his hands alone.

The Siren lunged at him, talon-like nails outstretched. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Annabeth," he whispered. "Forgive me."

The blade plunged through her body in a spray of gore.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><strong><em>T-1070 minutes<em>**

Diomedes was an average guard.

He grew up with normal parents, a normal sister, and had a normal education. He applied to become one of Order's soldiers, and he had been assigned the role of a main gate guard, along with a surly looking man in his late-forties, with a scruffy complexion and a perpetual scowl on his face.

It was normal. And it was _boring._

Every day, they would stand in their armor, checking passports, intimidating people, the usual. They were not really soldiers of action, but peacekeepers for the sake of order. But by the Void, why did it have to be so _hot_ all the time?

It was mind-numbingly vexing work, one he had become used to in the few months since he'd been assigned the post. The other guards had grown accustomed to seeing him while doing their rounds, and he had finally been considered one of them. Sometimes, they would have small outings to the nearby villages, where they would get so drunk it was a miracle they hadn't died from alcohol poisoning yet.

And of course, the next day, Diomedes sorely regretted it. The hangover made him feel like a giant was punting his head around his shoulders. That morning, he'd staggered to his post far later than usual, his armor half on and helmet askew. He was probably just going to sit in the shade and sleep off the rest of the day, and leave the work to Rat-Man (as he'd so eloquently dubbed his sour-faced partner).

Rat-Man scowled at him —it was a deeper scowl than usual— but did not complain, and for that Diomedes was grateful. He collapsed against the wall in relief, shielding his eyes from the sun with one raised hand. He winced at the overt brightness, turning his head to the side in a failed attempt to block it out.

Perhaps he'd had just a _little_ too much to drink the night before, because by sundown, his hangover had alleviated somewhat, but he still felt like he would throw up if he made any abrupt movements.

"Last call in fifteen minutes," Rat-Man said gruffly. "Then we close the gates."

Diomedes staggered to his feet, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Great," he slurred dizzily. "I don't feel so… so good right now… I…"

Rat-Man barely gave him another glance.

"If you're going to throw up, do so around the corner. I don't want to clean up any more of your messes."

Diomedes saluted sloppily, shuffling off with a noticeable slant in his gait. He'd only just made it before what meager food he'd manage to keep in his stomach made a reappearance. Making a face, he rinsed his mouth out with some of the water he kept in his rations canteen and spat it out.

Stowing the bottle back onto his belt, he made his way back to the front gates. He was feeling less of the thick headed numbness that came hand-in-hand with alcohol, but as he made his way back to the main gates, he was suddenly quite sure he was seeing things.

Or, as a matter of fact, he was seeing a lack thereof.

The guards were gone, including Rat-Man. Night was setting, but he was infinitely sure he hadn't heard the warning bell. They must have been playing a trick on him again, no doubt to get back at his rather slovenly behaviour today.

"Not funny, guys!" he yelled up into the watch terraces.

He half expected to hear snickers, but only his voice echoed back.

Grumbling in annoyance and frustration, he leaned back against the wall with a huff, crossing his arms like a petulant child. He was muttering some pretty obscene things about Rat-Man and his fellow guards when he felt an odd dripping against his scalp, seeping into his hair.

It was thick, and… oozing? His hand went to the back of his head. It came out dark red.

"By the Infernal…" he muttered, his eyes widening so that the whites were showing. "If they throw beet juice into my hair one more time, I swear I'll—"

A glob of cooling blood smacked him between the eyes, curving down one side of his nose and trailing down his cheek like a bloody tear. For a second, he thought the skies were bleeding.

"Oh, for the love of…!"

With an exasperated sigh, he flicked his eyes upwards.

_(and in that moment, he knew he was going to die)_

He stared uncomprehendingly at the corpse above him, and his expression changed from a vexed one to one of absolute horror, the color draining slowly from his face.

There were knives driven into Rat-Man's wrists and ankles, so that he was crucified for the world to see like some kind of grotesque emblem. A happy smiley face was carved into his neck, complete with x'd out eyes. His face, usually set in the deepest of scowls, was contorted with unimaginable agony. He didn't die peacefully, that was for certain. Blood dripped from his open mouth, beading up on his lower lip, before splashing down on Diomedes' nose, slick and wet.

The young guard swayed and fell onto his rump, his eyes still fixed on the corpse. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was open but somehow he couldn't get enough air. His arms were close to his chest, fists shoved in his mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle the hysterical whimpers forcing themselves out of his throat.

_This isn't real,_ he told himself, over and over, blinking his eyes as though that would make him wake up. He pinched his arm hard, leaving a blue-black bruise in its place. He was so preoccupied in fighting his inner demons that he did not realize that someone had come up behind him.

"Is everything—oh. I see."

Diomedes shrieked like a girl.

The newcomer was covered head to toe in blood, and his eyes were fever-bright, like that of a knife's blade—too sharp and too poisonous. It seemed to fit him well, this persona, as though the one they had seen in the Great Halls and in the hallways was just an ill-fitting mask put up for show. He caught Diomedes staring at him, and flashed him a smile. It was not his normal, cold twitch of the lips, but a quick knife-like flash of white teeth.

This was a Primordial, borne out of untameable, volatile elements. This was a killer.

Erebus of the Endless.

They say Death followed him.

Reaching up, he pulled out the knife pinning Rat-Man's left hand to the stone mortars, letting the limb flop loose and nearly smack him in the face. He caught it in one vice grip, pulling the corpse closer. It seemed to bend grotesquely at the waist and knees, but Erebus didn't seem to care. He was scrutinizing the burns carved into the neck.

"That is… troubling," he murmured. He let go of Rat-Man's wrist, shaking off the blood that had begun to trickle down his arm.

Diomedes plucked up the courage to ask, in a trembling voice, "W-What is?"

Erebus gave him a cold, unreadable look, the dying sun reflected in his eyes. His mask was missing.

Then in a single swift motion, he unsheathed and drove his sword into Rat-Man's freed hand. It was pinned back to the wall in a sick squelch of breaking flesh and bone, carving a deep groove in the stone. All around the new and elongated wound, the skin was blackened and charred, like it had been burned off.

"That," he said calmly, jerking his head towards the jagged scarring spreading through his skin. It matched the marks on Rat-Man's throat.

He didn't look at all uncomfortable with the blood that sprayed up in a thick font, staining his pale visage in gruesome smears. He jerked his sword out, the edges hissing with dark fire, unblinking as arterial fluids stained his face. He looked more than comfortable, like it was easier than breathing. Like he was born to do this.

"You're… you're the murderer!" Diomedes pointed a shaking finger at the immortal, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind. His voice was several octaves higher than usual.

A small trace of exasperation leaked into Erebus' features, melting away the pure stone of his face.

"Don't be absurd," he snapped. "I was at the West Gate when it had fallen. I come back to find you curled up on the ground and the others killed in a technique that only I can wield… curious…" Erebus paused thoughtfully, before making up his mind and dragging Diomedes to his feet effortlessly.

"Come. We will find Aether. Do you know where he is?"

Diomedes nodded frantically, thankful that he'd heard a useless conversation that morning between a pair of maids. He hadn't paid it much attention at the time, for he was still hung-over and sick. But now, he knew that it would be paramount to suicide to provoke a Primordial, and maybe giving the information he asked for would be enough to appease him.

"H-He's guarding Master Pontus today, so he sh-should be in his chambers."

Erebus nodded. "Very good."

Diomedes scrambled to his feet, casting a nervous glance at the dead corpses that were being bathed in the moon's eerie light. "I'm coming, too!" he practically shouted.

That was easier said than done.

Erebus wasn't particularly broad or well-muscled like his brother, the one with the white hair—Aether— but he was striking in the way of a killer who knew who and what he was capable of doing and was perfectly at ease with it. He could certainly understand why the civilians were so leery of him. Untrained as they were, even they could sense his power.

His skin was the color of freshly fallen snow, and it would have looked sickly had it been on anyone else. But with his dark, raven hair, generously curved mouth, and graceful features, it offsetted his pale complexion and arrested the attention of all who passed. Lean and careless in his thin armor and cloak, he moved with an effortless grace, his shoulders set in a casual but ready manner, eyes quietly cold, a predator's cadence to his ghosting steps.

In the shadows, it was almost impossible to make him out. His footsteps were perfectly timed to the hiss of the fires rasping against wood, the sway of people murmuring to each other.

He seemed to be following a trail only he could see, and Diomedes was struck by how much he'd been missing. Even after being a guard for half a year, he'd never seen these passageways before. A wall of vines was the entrance to a secret corridor. A groove on the wall was a door handle. Some were ruined and crumbled, but Erebus moved through them as though he could still see the grandeur they once displayed.

There were several more turns before he stopped by an ornately carved door. His hand paused before it could touch the handle.

"Something isn't right," he said softly. "Keep on your guard."

He depressed the handle, and Diomedes watched with tense anticipation as it clicked several times and turned downwards, the door swinging open on well-oiled hinges. With a muttered word, the room was engulfed in dark light.

Inside was chaos.

Papers were fluttering ruggedly in the wind, borne on streams of air jetting in from the broken windows and the door leading to the balcony was completely ripped off of its hinges. The rough edged curtains were billowing in the wind, only adding to the ominous atmosphere.

In the middle of the room, Aether was sprawled over what remained of a table. The ornate wooden legs had collapsed from the sheer force he'd been thrown into it, and the top half had snapped off, the Primordial lying between the two splintered edges. There was a thin trickle of blood edging from above his hairline, cutting across his temple and trailing down his cheek, painting his face with red.

A giant of a sword impaled him through, the wound burned across by fire. The tip was visible from below the table, where it had gone through his body and pinned itself to the table. A slow smear of blood dripped down its edge in thin, methodic plunks.

Erebus' composure was close to breaking. Diomedes could see it fluctuating on his face. He knelt hastily by Aether's side, two fingers pressed gently against his neck.

"My Lord…" he said uneasily. Erebus was preoccupied with desperately trying to save Aether's life —even Diomedes could tell that it had struck something vital. When he looked up, his eyes were distracted and whitened with energy loss.

Diomedes had finally seen the intruder. His face paled. He reached out and pointed with one shaking finger, in time for Erebus to fix his sharp gaze on him—or rather, something behind him. He gave a warning shout, and a knife was in his hands, prepared to throw.

But he was too late.

Ragged black cloth fluttered in the peripherals of his vision. Two pinpricks of light. A hiss of hellfire.

Diomedes' head toppled off his shoulders.

-o-

For a few seconds, Percy watched as his headless body remained standing. Then it began to list to one side, careening ever so slightly to the left.

The manipulation was well played. This attacker knew of their darkest weaknesses and did not hesitate to play on them, and Percy cursed himself for his impetuousness. He'd seen Aether lying there, so still and so cold that rational thought was the last thing on his mind.

Under normal circumstances, he would have easily been able to pick out the intruder and act accordingly, but he was careless and now they were paying the price.

Sudden dizziness made him grip the table with white-knuckled fingers. He felt slightly faint; almost all of his energy had been used in a desperate attempt to heal Aether, because all he could see in his eyes was Nico dying, screaming and _reaching out with a hand he would never be able to reach…_

"So you've finally come…"

Percy looked up, his vision swaying in halos of yellows and blues. He blinked roughly, and he caught a pair of eyes the same color and shape as his own, staring back at him from under the cloak's hood. The figure threw his hand out, muttering an incantation; and suddenly, Percy found himself on his knees. Blinding, searing hot pain rippled through him like lightning, tearing and ravaging without mercy.

There was something cold pressed to the side of his face. His hand, shaking, slid along the smooth floors to rest beside his face. His mouth tasted of copper; he must have bitten his tongue to stay the screams. Pressing his palms against the ground, he forced himself up, his ragged breathing catching in his throat. It was sickeningly loud.

"Are you… are you my future self…?" he rasped out, meeting sea green eyes. The stranger smirked coldly, as though the situation was very ironic in some way that was lost on Percy.

"Of a sort," νερό replied, his eyes shining with darkness in the harsh hellfire brimming over his fingertips. "But you would know, wouldn't you?"

There was a clatter of armor. Aether threw himself at νερό with a wordless roar. His movements were sloppy and overbalanced, and both of them knew that he was only playing with Aether when he batted away his punches as though it was nothing more than flies.

"Enough of this."

νερό's hands came together in a single rune. A Death rune.

Adrenaline sang in Percy's blood; he tackled the stranger before he could finish the final chain.

"Go, Aether!" he said through gritted teeth, straining to keep the stranger pinned onto the ground. "I cannot hold him down for much longer—"

"I'm not leaving you," Aether growled back, his voice low and quick, cutting like a knife. Percy snarled wordlessly at him, eyes feral and wild. He felt another shockwave trembling through him, which would have knocked him down if he had not tightened his grip.

"Do not be a fool! This is no time for heroics!"

Percy had used up almost ninety percent of his energy healing Aether, and what remained was being rapidly sucked away. Even if he knew of the consequences, he would have saved Aether, but he only hoped it wasn't in vain.

Percy's control slipped; he was sent crashing through one side of the wall. There was a moment of seizure; he slumped against the rubble lifelessly. Aether made to follow him, eyes murderous with rage. Shadows began to ripple around him, his eyes beginning to turn a coal black.

"How dare you…!"

νερό only smiled at him, a flash of slitted pupils and sharp teeth.

"Do not fret. It is your turn now."

Then there was a pain in his head and over his heart. He felt something seeping through his armor, dripping to the ground and staining his clothing. He tried to wheeze in a breath, but it caught in his chest and he could not feel anything else.

He knew he should get up, should kill the stranger for daring to harm _either_ of them, for daring to lay a hand on Erebus, for kidnapping Pontus, for so many things that he did not have the strength to anymore. His eyes closed, and he slumped freely against the ground.

Somehow, he'd never quite imagined it like this. But it didn't matter. Nothing did.

Was this… the end?

Aether fell.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>T-780 minutes<strong>_

In a few harried words told to her by a panicked herald, Nyx's entire world came crashing down in front of her.

"What?" she hissed out, her face drawn and pale.

Without waiting for confirmation, she bolted out the door, skidding down several corridors and sharp turns, descending down a winding staircase —too long, she was too late, _always too late_— until she fumbled to a stop outside of the castle's infirmary, guards and servants alike parting before her.

The nurses and medics inside cowered from her wrath, which she did not deem to hide. They were dressed in white—sterile, unliving white—that was stained with tiny blossoms. Aether's blood.

Her brother's whitened hair was a muddy red, bits of plaster dust clumping to form murky chunks. She bit back a sob, feeling as though someone had suddenly dragged the earth from beneath her feet. His eyes were half lidded, and she could see the lifeless blue that stared glassily at the ceiling.

Comatose. Not dead. But close.

An inexplicable rage clawed through her chest. She couldn't breathe, the world was a sea of chaos and color.

Nyx's hands fisted in the collar of a medic's white coat, and pulled him close. She roared out,_ "WHO DID THIS?"_

The medic swallowed; she could see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. She shook him harder as several other nurses and medics tried to separate them. She did not care. She needed vengeance. She would _kill_ the attacker, slowly dissecting their flesh from their bones as she made them _beg_ for mercy (mercy they will never receive), beg for almost killing her precious little brother.

The medic was turning blue. It must have been asphyxiation that made him wheeze out a name that made her insides clench; and it was almost worse than Aether's comatose state, somehow.

She let go of him in shock and took a few steps away from them, an incredulous laugh beginning to bubble in her throat. The medic reeled backwards, taking deep lungfuls of air, his complexion turning a heavy red of blush-blood.

"Say that again. You're lying, aren't you?"

This time, another medic spoke up soberly. "My Lady, we are all distraught as well," _certainly doesn't seem like it, _Nyx thought bitterly, "but the soldiers came to find Erebus kneeling Aether, ready to strike the death blow. By then, the damage was too much for us to repair. Master Pontus was nowhere in sight; presumably, Erebus had taken him elsewhere before engaging Aether. We successfully incapacitated him and took him to the holding cells. He is there now, awaiting his sentencing."

This all seemed a little too convenient.

"I don't believe you," she said under a façade of calm, her heart trembling internally at the words. She stared at them all for a little longer before turning on her heel and leaving the smell of death and sterility and sickness behind. The doors swung open and closed, and only when she was out of sight did she drop the image of composure and begin to run.

Her path took her deeper into the maw of earth, twisting and winding in narrow tunnels, past the blacksmith's workshop, past everything she had ever known. The air grew dank and stale, oppressing and dark. The only light came from the half-hearted flickers coming from the braziers set in the stone walls. It was cut into thick, heavy bricks that were flecked with chips of silver dust.

She continued deeper in, ignoring the jeers or pleads of the prisoners until she stopped at the very last cell. Conflicting emotions threatened to bring her to her knees, and she took several steadying breaths.

"Erebus," she called quietly.

After several moments, eyes opened, shining through the darkness. Oddly enough, they seemed more of a sickly yellow than before, polluting the murky iris.

"Nyx," he rasped, a sneer in his voice. "Come to spit on the cornered animal?"

Nyx shook her head frantically, her hands clutching the cold bars to her chest, face pressed against them. Erebus remained farther away, and she could barely make him out, sitting against the flagstones with his knees pressed against his chest and his arms slung around them.

"They tell me you were the one to hurt Aether. It's not true, is it?"

Erebus frowned.

Her question is foolish, and she knew it, but could not help blurting it out. She already knew the answer, anyways. It didn't matter. She was silly for doubting him.

Nyx began to relax, a warmer smile tugging at her lips—

"_Ahh_," Erebus' chuckle cut her off, a maniac sound that sent shivers down her spine, like the rasp of knives upon stone. One side of his mouth was pulled into a dark purr, and his eyes glowed uncommonly bright. "But I _did_, my dear Nyx. Almost snapped his neck, too, you see."

"—it's just a misunderstanding, I'll get Order to—_what_?"

Nyx slid down the bars, her knuckles white. Her eyes were beseeching, horror stricken, and desperately hoping that she'd only heard wrong.

"Such _trust_," Erebus crooned, and in that moment, something inside of her _broke._ "Did you really believe I _cared_ about you or your pathetic family? For such a lauded and serenaded Primordial, it was disgustingly easy—"

Nyx screamed.

A haze of red consumed her vision, and before she could even register her actions, she had sent Erebus crashing to the other side of the cell. His head slammed against the floor with a solid crack. Erebus looked stunned, and the unnatural hue faded from his eyes. He rubbed his temples groggily, blinking as one would after waking up from a particularly long sleep.

"Nyx?" he muttered, starting to stand up. "What's wrong? What—"

"Stay away, demon," she hissed. "I _trusted_ you. We all did, and this is how you repay us? By killing Aether and Pontus?" She ignored Erebus' feeble and stunned protests. "No, I guess you were always a traitor all along. I should have known… Order was right this whole time." Then, her breathing calmed and she sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Her voice no longer trembled.

"Ist quantam terratius, ilst terratius ich."

_Once a monster, always a monster._

Erebus reeled back as if struck.

"Nyx… I didn't…"

She spat in his face.

"I hope they kill you."

_(little did she know how right she would be)_

* * *

><p>That night, he dreamed of Tartarus.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>T-57 minutes<strong>_

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Percy looked up from his tightly bound hands to see the eyes of the entire room fixed on him. He put on his best emotionless mask, but some part of Nyx's accusations had struck far too close to home, and there was a little twinge of heartbreak in his eyes that he was unable to hide.

It was a mockery of a trial. The scribe sat with his ink and parchment, fervently scribbling down their words. It was most likely all lies, and none of his words would ever reach the outside world.

Still, he lifted his chin defiantly and stared down Order.

"Yes," he said, his voice ringing. "I was at the West Gate, and when I came back, the guards were dead, all but one. We went to Aether, as he is responsible for coordinating internal security. I tried to heal him, the guard was killed, and the attacker came—I am not sure of the details afterwards."

Murmurs.

"Do you have a witness you would like to bring forth?"

Order's eyes were gleaming. Percy's mouth suddenly felt dry.

_(it was planned, all of it)_

"No…" he admitted reluctantly. "They were killed," _you orchestrated it, didn't you? _"and unless you can ask the dead for a testament, I'm afraid you'll have to go without."

"No need," Order interjected, his voice smooth. "We already have a guilty testament from you, provided by our very own Nyx."

Percy's breath caught; he felt as though someone had reached in and torn a part out of him.

_(he'd expected it, but somehow that makes him hurt worse)_

His eyes scanned the rows of spectators crowded in the stands. She wasn't there—too cowardly to come and see his sentencing, to meet his eyes as they killed him? His lip curled in disgust, and he ruthlessly killed that little bit of hope in his heart. How very foolish he had been. How stupid. They played him like a fiddle...

The judge cleared his throat nervously, but Order silenced him with an upraised hand, cutting off any pretences of justice. He jumped into the podium from the upraised stands, where Percy was chained to a chair.

"The court was deciding to put you in prison for the rest of your immortal life, but I do have a better idea. You were my trusted subordinate, and thus, I will be the one deciding your punishment. I have consulted my _advisors_, and we have decided to implement a decidedly different path for you to take. Be honored."

Order's leer made Percy's stomach drop, but he refused to be beaten into submission.

"But first, my advisor has given me such a marvellous suggestion, as well as an artifact that he'd managed to acquire from… other sources. Bring it in!"

At his command, a young herald burst in through the wide doors, carrying a bleak looking metallic ring on a stain pillow, the metals contrasting sharply with the soft cloths. Order took it with graceful hands, his gaze never leaving Percy's. With a touch and a hiss, it expanded to full size.

A collar, etched with runes that were sparking with stippling electricity. Percy tried to fight him off, but he was bound too tightly to do much more than struggle as Order slipped it around his neck, tightening it until he could barely breathe.

Confused murmurings rippled through the spectators.

"A demonstration, perhaps," someone spoke.

The speaker was standing by Order's throne, lounging carelessly against one side. A dial hung from his fingers, and even as Percy felt dread pooling into his stomach, he sneered at him, for he recognized the attacker.

"How the mighty have fallen. Employing murderers and deceivers into your ranks—"

The figure hummed thoughtfully.

"For your cheek, I think I will make this one a ten."

The dial clicked—the swing of Death's pendulum.

His world exploded into white, white that burned and slipped through his body with a hot and vicious current, ravaging in intensity until he was sure he was screaming. His throat was a raw, bloody mess and with every inhale he tasted copper. His world was consumed by fire, fire that gave life and warmth and was now his nemesis, clutching him possessively and searing away his very core.

He must have blacked out, for when he opened his eyes again, he was slumped over the left side of the chair, the chains pulling viciously on his right wrist and etching bruises into his fever-paled skin.

Percy tried to quell his breathing to a more manageable level, hating how powerless he was to stop the ragged, too-loud gasps that tore themselves out of his chest. It was the only sound in the room, and when he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that many of the room's occupant's were staring at him with barely disguised horror.

"Light energy of the purest kind," said the figure nonchalantly, his too-bright eyes coruscating with anticipation. "It does such wonders against the Dark. You do recognize it, do you not?"

Percy couldn't get his voice to work. He couldn't think. It was as though the pain had torn out a very piece of him, a part he couldn't get back.

_"Zeus…"_

"Oh, well done. That is correct; Zeus' master bolt. Put to such a better use, no?"

The Olympians weren't in the audience, but perhaps it would be better if they were. They condoned of such torture, at least, and they'd probably think that it had gone to a good use.

Order cleared his throat, looking very much like he'd peed himself with glee.

"Yes… the verdict. I have not forgotten. You are hereby sentenced to the Vault of Ashes. My decision is final."

The name was met with a collective intake of harsh gasps. Percy hissed in a sharp breath, his eyes burning with disbelief and fire. The chains rattled ominously around his wrists.

"Are you _insane?"_ he demanded. "You will doom this world for petty revenge?"

The Vault of Ashes was a myth, a children's nightmare story—or so it seemed. Percy stumbled across it a few weeks ago on an archaic scroll he'd picked up in the civilians' market. Rumor says that it was made from the ashes of fallen warriors, paved into the very mortar of the prison to contain an ever greater foe. In death, they would sacrifice their last remains to keep a greater evil at bay.

The Vault was a gateway to the void—no, some said it was the very _embodiment_ of the void itself.

But in truth, the vault was a prison. The entire _void_ where the non-humans spawned was a prison made to contain a being of great power, one that was brilliant but completely and utterly mad. Some say he almost destroyed the living world and consumed it into ashes. He was bound to the Vault by warriors of old. So long as it is intact, he slumbers in eternal sleep.

Percy's presence would change the equivalence.

It had taken him a few seconds to connect the dots, but after being locked in the very same place for millennia, he finally understood.

The Vault of Ashes... better known as Tartarus.

"There are greater things in play," Order swept his arms out in a magnificent gesture. "Greater beings in the world. Power is power, and our predecessors fail to realize this. They keep the Infernal Void chained out of their own ignorance. I will change this. I will _free_ him."

He turned back to Percy, eyes shining with unholy glee.

"And you will be the sacrifice to catalyze our worlds."

The court murmured in dissent, but they dared not interrupt. Little did they know that they would not remember this day for the rest of their lives, as it would have been wiped from their memories. Information can be tortured out of a person, but there was no way to betray something you did not even know existed, and Order knew this well.

Order raised his arms and began to chant; harsh white light was sucked into a swirling shape, funnelling sharply in the hollow of his hand. He activated a chain of runes, deathless ones, ones eradicated from memory for fear of destroying the entire world.

It fed on Percy. He was being consumed, and as he felt his life dribbling from his fingertips, drop by drop, he managed to find the energy to open his eyes one last time.

"You have begun things… you cannot finish, Order," Percy wheezed out, one hand over his heart. Blood spilled from his lips, but it did not quench the fire in his eyes. "And the world… will perish with you!"

The ruler only smirked.

There was a screech of power, of unequivocal forces grinding against each other in a way they were never meant to. A very hole was being ripped into the existence of time and space—

A pit yawned beneath him, and in that minute, he suddenly understood the truth of what Kronos had said so long ago—he was only a pawn piece, liable to be discarded at will for a 'greater purpose.' It mattered not his strength, his cunning, only that he did not outlive his use.

_"T minus zero minutes," _νερό whispered.

There was a fraction of a seconds' pause, almost as if time slowed for him. He saw the wide eyes, the fear, the malicious anticipation, suffocating, pressing in tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe..

_(for he always knew he could not escape)_

The world was gone in a rush of darkness that enveloped him and pulled him down, suffocating in intensity—

Tartarus welcomed him with opened arms.

Percy fell.

* * *

><p><strong>End of Part II<br>_Wanderer_**


	16. Mannaz (Mystery)

**Author's Notes —** hey. Miss me? Sorry for the long wait; but it's quality over quantity, yes? I hope this chapter makes it up to you. We're over eight hundred reviews now, and there were more than sixty for the last chapter alone…

Wow. I thank you all.

Think of this as a teaser prologue. It's not as long as my usual length, but it supports important information that will be discovered in future chapters.

A warning first, though. This chapter is set in the past, back when Percy was twelve and in Yancy. There is an element of horror incorporated, and I scared myself quite a bit when I was writing this at night.

**Edit** — I've tried to fix the Mum/Mom conundrum for this chapter. It still irks me when I'm trying to proofread, because I always knew my mother as Mum.

Also, sorry for any errors. I haven't slept in twenty four hours, and I may not be as coherent as I hope to be.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies —<strong> **_Username1576_** - currently, I'm planning on around five parts for this story. And to answer your second review, no, it's not Chronus. **_Leftover Meal_ **- Order wants to release a powerful deity from Tartarus, and he needs someone else to take his place. Since he considers Percy uncontrollable, he uses him as a sacrifice to kill two birds with one stone. **_Bright Yellow Angel Halo _**- indeed. He'll catch a break, eventually... **_Clefspear_** - honestly, I'm not quite sure at the moment. I have several possible endings planned out. All I can say at the moment is that the ending will be conclusive. **_StormOfNight_** - both, but it's not a harem. It may seem confusing at the moment, but don't worry, I have it planned out in meticulous detail. **_prince of the seas _**- thank you! **_Starstryker97_** - alas, rusty spoons. Fear not, the chapter hath come! **_starwarsfan2296_** - thank you. **_darkrai6543_** - I'm glad you liked it! Hope this chapter does not disappoint. **_wisdomsdaughteriscrazy_** - nope. There were some more clues hinting at his identity, but nothing revealing yet. **_chessrd_** - this was a bit too long to leave here, so I sent a PM. If it doesn't clear things up, feel free to message me! **_SpartanWarrior117_** - I'm glad you liked it! How's your story coming along? **_Intellectually_** - this literally made my day. Coupled to the fact that I'm quite irritated with the sleep deprivation and all... thank you. In a way, you are right about νερό's identity, as he is tied to Percy in a very important way, but they are not the same person. Aether/Nico's personality is based on Nico before Bianca's death. Percy fell into Tartarus because it was partly a jab at the HoO series (I'm really not a big fan) and partly because he needs to overcome that part of himself, the darkness that lurks within. Anyways, thanks for reading, and I hope this chapter satisfies as well! **_Darkmoon111_** - cookies! I thank you. Glad you like it! **_Xuan Tian Shang Di_** - you flatter me. Well, νερό's identity will come to light quite soon. You shall see! **_Menaphite_** - In Nyx's opinion, she doesn't trust easily, but once she does, it is wholehearted. She thinks that Percy's leering manner is his true personality, and his true personality only a mask. I speak English, French, and Mandarin (language of the future, my mum says...) fluently. I'm passable in Latin and German, though my verb conjugation still needs work. Spanish is atrocious. The rest isn't even worth mentioning. You? **_Silvermoon546_** - ah, sometimes it seems that poor Percy will never get a break. νερό's identity will be revealed soon.** _A Confused Fan_** - to put it in a nutshell, Erebus is the illegitimate son of Chaos. Upon his mother's dying wish, he goes to protect his brother, Aether, under the name Perseus to avoid detection. He is recruited into the black ops portion of the military, and rapidly ascends in rank. Erebus pretends to betray Chaos and "defects" to Order, but the mission fails when Chaos is poisoned and Order accuses Erebus of the crime, even though he was fatally wounded on a mission a few days prior and had just managed to return by striking a deal with Death—give him six more months, and in return, she would have his soul. When Erebus finally is killed, Death reincarinated him as Percy, and locks his memories away. His dip in the Styx shatters this barrier, rendering him slightly insane. When the gods betray him and he is thrown into Tartarus, Death rescues him. And the rest, they say, is history. **_Lamon_** - out of curiosity, if you don't like the characters, what else is there left to read about? **_WideOpenSpacesGirl045_** - I'm glad you liked it! ^^ and don't worry, Reyna will be coming as soon as I pull Percy from Tartarus. **_aesir21_** - don't worry, Percy will be okay. The fates really do hate him, yes? **_Guest_** - ...I can see I had you excited there. **_Tally Jennifer Youngblood_** - *smiles mischievously* what do you think? **_The Nutty Squirrel_** - I hope the PM cleared things up. If not, feel free to spam me. **_Jewish Panda_** - I'm glad! Tell me how it goes. **_MortalFantasy0002_** - unfortunately, I have a habit of falling into an obsessive must-edit-everything stage once every few months, so I go back and correct all the errors I can see. I was quite entranced by Greek Mythology as a child. And while RR does a good job in elaborating some of them, others with so much potential is left forgotten. I think you're one of the rare few that actually understand my blatherings, so I do congratulate you! I'm very thrilled that you liked it, and I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. **_PaultheEwok_** - English isn't my first language, but I do like it very much and it is my preferred one. The pairing won't be particularly heavy one way or another—I'm not a big fan of some of the stories in here that has a harem of goddesses chasing after Percy with no plot to be found. To answer your other questions, Chaos will come into play later on. As Thanatos, Percy is the Primordial of the Endless, but he changed his first name to Erebus as an alias. **_Zhenga11_** - here it is! :) **_killer4853_** - thank you! **_Guest_** - more is here. **_Prmehta24_** - glad you like it. If there's anything you don't understand, feel free to ask. **_Guest_** - *smiles* **_FrozenKeyLD_** - thank you! You're one of the few that doesn't find it confusing, so I do congratulate you on that. And eight hundred! Wow. Truly, I never expected people to like it so much. **_Guest_** - well, I hope it was in a good way. **_Eclipse1234_** - I never expected it to be everyone's cup of tea, and it wasn't designed to be so. **_Twigon Halolover_** - one worthy of the cliffhanger king, RR himself, I hope. Nevertheless, I do agree with you that super!Percy gets old very quickly. **_Guest_** - well, I'm not quite _that_ young anymore, but you're close. **_Guest_** - I'm glad! :) **_Guest_** - here it is. **_JosephineSilver_** - good question about the demigods. They're still on Ordis, but the gods will be taking them back. Reyna will reappear once I get Percy out of Tartarus and to Earth. She doesn't have a crush on him yet. She just finds him rather mysterious and his motives unclear, and is intrigued. Richard's nose? It'll come off one day ;) As for information on posting on this site, what exactly are you looking for? **_AlphaOmega314_** - thank you! I hope this chapter is good as well :) **_Red Dead Flamer_** - I prefer to let the reader figure things out themselves, rather than to hand it out on a silver platter.

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><p>-<em>X<em>-

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><p><strong>Part III<br>****_The Rise And Fall of the Empire_**

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><p><strong>Prologue<br>****Mannaz**

Ħ

_Rune for mystery, awareness, rationality._

There is a statue in Central Park.

No one knows how it came to be. It appeared one day out of thin air. No artist came forth to claim the sculpture as his own, so the city officials put the sculpture in Central Park. It was made of marble, a fine, vein-less kind that was almost impossible to find naturally. In the darkness, it almost seemed to glow.

It depicted a young man, barely in his twenties, wearing an expensive business suit. He was smiling cheerfully at the world, one hand caught in a half-wave, the other tucked into his pocket. Wings sprouted from his back, shading his eyes from the sun. He was risen up on his toes, an eager anticipation writ in the set of his muscles.

It was the perfect blend of modern and classical art… if it were not for the chains.

The thick chains that bound him down, bursting out of his back, wrapping around his wings, his legs, his arms, until the smile looked more gruesome than happy. The critics that came to view it all called it a breathtaking work of art, one surpassing Michaelangelo himself. But none of them could understand the gritty realism the artist meant to portray. That even in modern times, nothing was as bright as it seemed and that everyone was chained down, in one way or another.

In the beginning, the statue rested at the very entrance of the park, welcoming its viewers with a sunny smile. It was the centre of attention; people came far and wide to spectate.

Then they started to notice something strange.

People began to go missing.

It was slow, at first, maybe one every few years, so that the cases could never be connected to one another, though it was heavily suspected. But no evidence could ever be found, and eventually, the cases were closed as cold. The police moved on. The families grieved.

Then disppearances came every other day. Faster and faster. Still, the statue went unsuspected. The idea was ludicrous. How exactly could a statue kill well over thirty people?

Until one day...

It moved.

The day before, it was still smiling, but in the morning, the police noticed with sudden shock that it had one arm crossed behind its back, and the other was raised to its lips in a secretive manner, a sly smirk marring its marble features.

A dribble of blood leaked from the side of its mouth, and its fingernails were caked with crimson.

One link of its chain was weakened. There was a slight crack in its marble surface.

They would have put it down as an ill-timed prank, but the entire park had been wrapped up in police tape, and they knew for certain that it was the very same statue although the posture was different. Video surveillance showed that no unauthorized persons crossed into the zone.

The blood matched the ones of the victims.

Although some could swear that in one of the cameras, a blank, white eye suddenly moved up to one of the cameras, before it went static.

The next day, two police officers were found missing. The statue had changed position once more.

Frightened, the government decided to have it demolished. But when the workers came, they found nothing but an empty pedestal.

That was the last they saw of the statue.

But not quite.

Sometimes, when joggers would 'get lost' too far into the park, rangers would find their remains some days later. Heavily torn apart, with bits strewn everywhere.

It was always assumed to be a rogue bear of some sort, and the next day, all of Manhattan sold out on pepper spray.

But the old rangers, the retired ones, knew better. They would shiver and quietly reaffirm such death with their own experience, and know that it was purely supernatural.

The statue.

They warned the others as best they could, but no one believed them. And one by one, the old rangers were found dead in the same way the joggers had.

Their tales were silenced.

Warnings halted.

The park reopened. It was busier than ever.

But sometimes, they say at night and under a full moon, one could see a blood caked angel statue making its way across the grounds, weeping into its hands. And they began to call it an omen of death.

For that was the last thing they would see.

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><p><em>-X-<em>

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><p>Sally stood by the stove, humming softly under her breath. With a large wooden cooking spoon, she was stirring scrambled eggs.<p>

Gabe was still in their bedroom, snoring away. She could hear it from here, but it would not be long before he would smell the scent of food and waddle into the living room, demanding beer and sausages. Percy always complained that he didn't know why she would put up with such a pig.

If only he knew that there were worse things out there…

Oh, her darling little boy. He might complain and moan about her coddling, but he would always be her little baby at heart, waving his little fists and shrieking his lungs out in the middle of the night. And in a few hours, he would be gone again, back to Yancy for the rest of the term.

It was for the best, even though she felt as though a tiny bit of her heart crack away every time she was forced to send him away—for his own good, she tried to convince himself. But the selfish part of her wondered… would it be better? To go to a public school, to stay with her? Maybe Gabe's scent would mask him even better…

No.

She couldn't.

She would never be able to live with herself if he died. He was the only thing that she had ever gotten right in her whole miserable existence.

In her mind's eye, she could once again see the steaming butt of the yellow school bus, Percy's face pressed against the back window, one hand waving slowly until they were out of sight.

Sally scrubbed furiously at a spot of burned egg on the pan. She was so absorbed in her self-appointed task that she didn't hear the door creak open quietly and a boy slip out on tired feet.

Percy emerged from his room. His hair was in disarray and the rest of him not much better. His shirt was inside-out, the seam showing clearly on the sides.

"Hey, Mom," he said heavily. His voice was tired. Sally paused in her charcoal-scraping (because really, that was all the eggs were now) to look at him in worry.

"Percy, are you excited for your field—sweetie? Are you feeling okay?"

Percy scrubbed at his eyes, scrunching them up before relaxing with a large sigh.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Just kinda tired. Bad dream."

Sally's hand seized, and the pan clattered to the ground, spilling black ash everywhere. She immediately jumped backwards and was quick enough to avoid getting it on her clothes.

Her heart raced in breathless anticipation. Demigod dreams were never just dreams.

"What was it about?" She didn't want to know, but oh, she must…

Percy stifled a yawn, covering it with one hand. He plunked down on a chair, ignoring the ominous creaking, and laid his head against the wall.

"Not much. I was being chased by a giant statue."

At least it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Sally allowed herself a shaky laugh.

"That doesn't sound too bad. I don't think we'll be having eggs for breakfast, though."

She prodded a particularly large chunk with her foot, and it disintegrated under her touch.

"Yeah," Percy agreed, sliding off of his chair to open the refrigerator door. Soft light emanated from the inside, highlighting the jars of preserves. He grabbed the fresh bread and kicked the door closed. "But I guess you didn't see its teeth."

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><p>Manhattan traffic was deplorable on the best of days. On the worse, it could take several hours to travel one block. For some very, very patient people, that might've been okay, but for Percy and his ADHD, it was not.<p>

His classmates seemed to agree. Some in the back were vandalizing the worn grey seats, while others were throwing spit balls at each other, shouting at the top of their lungs. The teachers seemed to have given up all hope of controlling the war zone, and were huddled in the front, trying to minimize the damage as best as they could.

They were on a field trip to Central Park for history class, to 'learn about the marvellous history of New York' or something of the like. Personally, Percy thought the teacher just wanted to get out of a school of seven hundred juvenile delinquents.

As if to prove his point, someone behind him threw several stink bombs.

Another sprayed cologne at the first.

Percy sneezed violently at the rather atrocious smells that resulted in the concoction. Grover handed him a tissue, and he took it gratefully.

"Thanks, G-man," he said, wiping his nose. "I don't know what's wrong with me today. First that dream—"

"What dream?" Grover interrupted in alarm. Percy rolled his eyes, tossing the tissue into the school bus's garbage can. As usual, it bounced off the rim and tumbled off to the side when the bus took a sharp turn.

"What is this, Disneyland? Where dreams come true? You're just like my mom. Both of you freaked out about that. I don't get what's so bad about having a nightmare every once so often. I can take care of myself."

"This is serious, Perce," Grover insisted. Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're one of those superstitious people who believe in palm reading and crystal ball gazing and and all of those nut jobs…"

Grover sighed in exasperation, but didn't let up the point. "Just tell me, alright? Please?"

"There was a statue with giant teeth chasing me. It was bloody and really, really creepy. There. Happy? Is that ominous enough for you?"

Grover snickered under his hand. "A statue with giant teeth? Really, Perce?"

Percy scowled sullenly.

"Knew you wouldn't believe me," he muttered. "It was… I dunno, it was scary, alright? In that kind of supernatural way."

That shut Grover up quickly.

"Was there anything trying to kill you?" he asked, uncommonly serious. His right foot ticked nervously against the dirty bus floor, and with every movement, his heel kicked up a rather sizeable quantity of dust. Grover looked as though he was expecting to be attacked at any moment. By bullies, most likely, or Nancy Bobofit.

Percy snorted in exasperation, and pulled Grover's hat over his eyes. "Enough about my dream. Chill, will you? It's almost Christmas, and here we are, going to look at some frozen trees or whatever."

Grover looked reluctant to drop the subject, but he replied, "Well, actually, it's to 'immerse ourselves in the rich and diverse culture of—' "

"You got all that from Mr. Kent's speech?" Percy deadpanned. "I think I might've been asleep. All I heard was that we're missing school, and that was really the only reason I got my mom to sign the form."

Grover shook his head in fond amusement.

"Only you, Percy, only you."

Their conversation was interrupted when the school bus doors flew open. Percy and Grover were hit with a sudden bout of cold wind, and as they were sitting in the front seat, they also good a fair chunk of snow in their faces.

"We're here!" the bus driver all but shouted, and barrelled the rest of them out. Percy really didn't blame the poor man. He would have done the same if he had to put up with this particular class. The one full of delinquents the other teachers had kicked out, himself included.

When the last one was off, the bus was gone in a squeal of tires and thick exhaust. Percy waved his hand in front of his nose, coughing harshly, the sour smell of gasoline burning in his lungs.

"Gross," he muttered. "C'mon, Grover, the others are leaving. We'd better follow."

They tramped down the cold and barren footpath for what seemed like hours. Percy was sure that his nose was frozen on his face. He jerked the ends of his scarf tighter, shivering slightly. Beside him, Grover wasn't doing much better.

Mr. Kent, their history teacher, was droning on about something-or-another in the very front of their group. No one was paying attention. Some were pushing each other in the snow. Others were shoving icicles down other peoples' shirts.

"Alright, class," Mr. Kent finally said wearily, after an hour of trying to put up with them. "Go for your break. Be back in this very spot in an hour. Don't get lost."

The kids cheered.

Percy could already tell him that it was a bad idea.

Because strange things happened to him when he was alone. He'd be sitting there, minding his own business, and along comes some creepy thing that tries to kill him. It always ended with him making something explode and getting kicked out of yet another school.

But really, who would believe him that a snake-woman-thing was chasing him around the school bus, or that the one eyed stalker really was out to get him? No, it was so much easier to blame the delinquent punk.

He learned to take it in stride.

Percy eyed his classmates in ill-disguised disgust. One again, Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket some passerby's purse, while others were smuggling candy out of a convenience store. Another was leering at a girl, who was scooting as far away as proper decorum would allow.

Shaking his head, he turned around to stare into forbidding whitened trees. "Come on, Grover, let's go back into the park. At least it's quiet there."

* * *

><p>They wandered for ten minutes, through the winding footpaths and breaking through clean, unblemished snow. There was only the occasional sound of a songbird's trill breaking the silence, or their heavy breathing as they plowed on.<p>

"Where are we… going?" Grover huffed, his crutches cold to the touch. He had to wrap it with his scarf or his fingers would stick to the metal.

Percy's cheeks were red from the whipping snow. It howled like a warning.

_Don't go there…_

He didn't listen.

"Just… away…" he wheezed.

"I think my crutches are frozen. So's my nose."

Percy looked around, then pointed to the left.

"There's a bench over there. I'm gonna go look around some more. We still have time, right?"

"Yeah," Grover said, his curly hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Fifteen minutes. I'll go wait over there."

Percy nodded his head, and eyed the vast expanse of forest ahead. There were no more footprints to follow.

Humming an out-of-tune Christmas carol under his breath, he went through a crack between the trees, his clothing snagging on some of the brambles. The snow was easily knee deep, and with every plunge, he sunk forward and his balance was thrown off.

He stopped after a few minutes, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from his brow.

It was a vast plain, broken only by the trees jutting up through the thick layer of snow. Their arms waved, ominous, yet there was no wind, nothing to facilitate the movements.

Rising above the whispers of snow, Percy could suddenly hear a wheezing, mechanical groan, rasping like a thousand knives being sharpened. A megalithic shriek that was howled out, before being suppressed until there was nothing but the wind and blood rushing in his ears.

Squinting to the side, he thought he could make out several indents depressed into the ground. Odd, because there wasn't anyone here now, and this place had the eerie look of one that had been lost by memory for decades.

But those _were_ footprints bordering the edges of the trees. Someone had been in a big hurry. Frenzied ones, turning around in circles before disappearing completely.

The marks were very shallow, but the toes dug deeply into the fine powder, leaving a heavy imprint. Running. There were also scrapes carved into the snow, as though someone and dragged a bunch of chains around. At one point, it crossed over the human footprints, and that's where they ended.

At the very end, there was a crumpled piece of metal. A badly damaged cell phone.

Oddly enough, the tracks were gone.

Abrupt.

As if the owner had suddenly disappeared.

Percy straightened, a little bit unnerved. Then his internal debate was suddenly cut off. Something else had caught his attention.

Dark marks splattered on a tree trunk.

_(someone's throat had been torn out) _

He gingerly brushed his fingers against it and brought it to his nose.

The smell of rust.

The sudden sickening plunge in his stomach told him all he needed to know. He'd smelled it enough times on Gabe's clothes, tasted it on his tongue when his stepfather was in one of his drunken rages.

Blood.

Suddenly, adventure didn't seem so appealing as before.

He began to back away, slowly at first, then faster and faster as instinct took over. His heart hammered in his throat.

This was just like his dream. But it couldn't be real. It couldn't…

He tripped over a rock.

Something hard and marble-like crashed into his back, cold and unyielding. He flailed around for a second, arms windmilling above his head.

And fell.

For a second, there was only air beneath him.

Then the frozen ice of of the fountain smashed against his back, making him topple over the side. All breath left his body, and he lay there, struggling to breathe, struggling to think, struggling to run. He stared up at the clouds, which were marred by veins of black—waving branches reaching for the sky.

"Urghh…" he groaned, letting his head flop to the side lifelessly, the melting ice water forming a little pool around his body. Several leaves stuck to his hair.

Great. Now he had a splitting headache as well.

Maybe he should find Grover. Surely, fifteen minutes was up—

A moan rose on the wind, thin and chilling. Percy froze where he lay, breath stilled, heart trembling. It lasted for several minutes, writhing and twisting in the air.

Then it was gone, but the hollow rasp continued. It was closer than ever, so close than Percy thought he could reach out and touch whoever it was.

But there was no one there. Only snow howled over a lonely plane.

Percy shivered.

Something cold and clammy suddenly dropped onto his stomach with a thud.

Coughing at the sudden impact, Percy groped blindly for the offending object. A branch blown off by the sudden wind, most likely, but it felt too… too wet, too soft to be one.

His fingers locked around soaked fabric.

It was threadbare, and ripped clean through on one side, the fibers clumped together with the questionable liquid. Blinking hard, he hissed in discomfort as wild blurs focused and unfocused before him, hurting his eyes.

His vision finally cleared, sharpening so that he could see each individual detail, keen eyes unwillingly burning the image into his memory forever.

He would have screamed if he could.

His entire arm and his school uniform was stained a dark red. His hand was clasped around a bloody severed wrist, with fingers that somehow maintained their rigid posture even after being cut off from the rest of the body. It was attached to half an arm, one that was wearing the sleeve of an expensive business suit.

Percy could see white bone, grinning up at him. Bone marrow dribbled.

He shouted in fright and flung it as far away as he could.

Heart now threatening to burst out of his chest, he crawled on all fours to get away. In his haste, his left hand slipped on a rock and he crashed, face-first, into the snow.

Spitting out dirt, he heaved himself to his knees. Wiping the grime from his face but only serving to make it worse, he turned—

And stared into terrified black eyes.

The mouth was still open in a scream, the face ashen grey. Dead only recently. Veins and split muscles hung from the torn neck, still dripping bile and blood onto the fresh snow.

There was a spray of blood coming from the direction of the statue.

That's when Percy finally realized what happened to the owner of those disappearing footprints.

And what was about to happen to him.

Adrenaline roared, along with the sudden, terrifying revelation that this was the end.

_"I'm going to die."_

He stumbled to his feet, backing towards the way he'd come, breath coming in sharp gasps. This was how it felt to have nightmares come true.

Only to find, with fascinated horror, that there wasn't one. The wind had blown the snow clean, sifting it into a smooth canvas of white. There was no way out.

In the centre, jutting like an angry spire, was the fountain.

Once upon a time, it seemed to have spewed water, but the pipe was brown with rust, trickling down from the open mouth. It had been forgotten to the civilians, and no more caretakers came to clean out the debris.

_(because they were never heard from again)_

There was a very thin layer of water frozen at the bottom, no doubt from the rain that had previously fallen, and autumn leaves coated the ice, slipping to and fro with the howling wind.

In the very centre was the statue.

Tall and forbidding, it loomed over Percy, throwing him into deep shadow. Despite its height, its back was hunched over, and its posture radiated pain and loss. Its hands covered its weeping face, hiding it from the rest of the world.

Wings, thick and feathered, jutted from its back, too detailed and intricate to have been carved by man alone.

_(because it wasn't)_

On the very bottom, in flowing letters, was carved "_Lacrimosa_." Some of the strokes were slightly rubbed off, and Percy traced a slow finger around the indents, cleaning out the dust.

"It isn't real, it isn't real," he muttered to himself, over and over, hysteria rising in his chest.

Blood smeared like desperately clawing hands sloped up the back of the angel, ending at the shoulders. Fine lines —countless— in the shape of nail marks littered its otherwise smooth neck.

Thin, furrowing scrapes was scratched into the bottom fountain pedestal. They were smeared with blood, long dried, the blood of the statue's previous victims.

Percy stumbled over his feet and ran.

All thoughts of a heroic stand instantly fled his head.

Then there was the distorted grinding noise that tried to reach him but kept getting pushed back. The sound of stones scraping.

Percy dared to look back, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

The statue was now somehow facing him, and for the first time, he could make out the bloodstains that marred the front of the white marble, trickling down from where it had been splattered.

Its fingers were parted.

Crimson spilled from the gaps in its fingers, trailing down the thin wrists. Percy saw slender, arched eyebrows furrowing down to bridge white, pupil-less eyes, staring at him with a hungry, feral expression.

He blinked.

The statue was gone. With a sharp gasp, he realized that it was now beside a tree to his left, maybe twenty yards away.

Its hands had come off its face now.

_"Perrrrr…"_

Oh, god.

Its head was cocked to one side, at too unnatural an angle to be human. One taloned hand reached for him, blood slowly dripping off of the outstretched finger.

Teeth were bared, sharp, jagged ones that were good at ripping skin from bone. The white stone was lined red there, spilling from the parted lips, dripping down its chin to plink softly into the snow.

Percy's eyes watered.

Then it reappeared on his right, perched on the lowest branch of a tree, one leg folded underneath to support its weight. The woods were eerily silent, with only the groan of rasping stones howling on the wind.

Only ten yards away now.

_"…seeeee…."_

He backed away and ran, not caring where he was going, only to get away. It may seem silly to be frightened of a statue, but he knew that this was no ordinary stone block, and his classmates could laugh all they wanted about it.

He threw a look over his right shoulder, legs burning with extertion, feet pounding against knee-deep snow.

With sudden horror, he realized that the statue was coming closer with every blink. Towards him. It was now around the bend, so well hidden by the thick tree trunks that all he could see was a marble hand, palm outstretched, fingers extended to rip his heart from his body.

_"…usssss…"_

He might've screamed.

Turning in desperation, he bolted for cover, looking back the entire time, until the hand disappeared from view. He rounded the bend, pressing himself flat against the tree's trunk.

Deep, rattling scrapes of stone, of chains dragging, rising above the sound of the wind before dissolving back in again. It was almost like laughter, the statue's, like this was only a game to be played.

_"Youuu cannnot hiiiide…"_

Percy found none of this even remotely funny. If this was a prank of some kind, he didn't mind going to jail for murder. His heart thrashed in his ribcage, and he was sure that the statue —or anyone in a twenty mile radius— could hear it calling out.

He closed his eyes, breathing a small sigh if relief when it did not reappear.

Then—

Cold marble fingers seized around his throat.

Percy's eyes shot open, and he tried to gasp in a breath, but he was the fish on land, struggling weakly yet too far away to reach safety.

Their noses were almost touching. Eyes bored into his, blank but piercing deep into his very soul.

There was nothing angelic about the statue now. Its carved eyebrows were drawn into a thick frown, bloodstained mouth pursed disapprovingly, as if saying, "why do you run when it is futile?"

Its wings, once laid flat against its back, was flared open, blocking out the sun and casting him into shadow.

Chains.

They were hidden by the wings, wrapped around his chest, his back, chaining him down to the mortal coil. It dragged on the ground, creating a hollow, metallic clink whenever it moved.

One link was weak. It was barely hanging on. The silvery metal was twisted from fire. Percy knew that if it ever broke, terrible things would happen.

One arm was resting on the sword strapped to its hip. The other was furled around Percy's neck, slowly throttling him to death.

It would only take one blink more before he died. Before the sword was drawn.

_"Youu imprisonnned mee innn Tarrrtaruusssss…"_

'_Please_,' Percy prayed. _'If there's a God out there or a guardian angel of some sort, please, get me out of here. I'll be good, listen to my mom, do anything you want me to do. I swear I'll switch my religion…!'_

He stared into menacing narrowed eyes. Nothing happened. His eyes watered and threatened to close.

_"I haave comee to reetuurn… thhe faavor…"_

A feminine voice rang clearly in Percy's head. Angry.

"No… he is _mine_."

There was a sudden sucking sound and a twisting in his gut. His vision distorted; all he could see was the wormhole of abstract colors that painted the back of his eyelids.

There was a flash of white. A cool hand on his.

"Not yet," the female voice murmured. It was familiar. "Too young. Soon, my champion. You will return to me. Where you belong."

Percy shot out of the shadows like he'd been spit from a cannon. Tumbling onto his hands and knees, he sucked in several breaths, gasping heavily, trying to breathe through the dull throb of pain that was his throat.

"… hey, Percy, I've been looking everyw—holy Zeus… what the hell happened to you?!"

Percy jolted as if burned. His head shot up, and he caught sight of Grover staring at him, the color slowly draining from his face.

"Are those… bloodstains?"

His hand moved to his pants for some reason, like he was going to take them off. Percy swayed and staggered to his feet, closing his fingers around Grover's wrist.

"Grover, thank god. It's coming. We have to… to go!" he wheezed out, urgently pulling his friend away. "It's coming for us… for me…!"

"Wait, wait, what is? Take a breath, Percy, you're safe here."

"No, we're not," he insisted, his breaths beginning to come in hysterical gasps. "The statue. It wants to kill me."

Grover's brow furrowed in confusion. "Hang on, the statue? You mean the one from your dream? Percy, are you feeling—"

"I'm… fine," he snapped back unsteadily, "but we're not gonna be if you don't move!"

They began to run towards the way they'd come, Percy in the front, dragging a reluctant Grover behind. Their footprints were barely imprints in the crisp powder, and several times they almost took dead ends.

A breeze caressed their faces lightly. A soft laugh.

_Why do you run, little children, when it is hopeless?_ _Why must you flee?_

The breeze turned to bellowing wind and the earth shook, trembling so hard that snow was jarred off the highest branches of the trees. Grover stumbled; Percy hauled his arm up and kept running.

The crutches dropped.

Grover started to turn back. But Percy shouted "No time!" and tightened his grip, pulling his friend away.

Then, as soon as it had started, the murmuring voices stopped. The wind stilled. The earth trembled one last time.

The angel was in front of them. There was no way they could flee without touching the statue now crouched in the middle of the road.

Sword unsheathed, glittering harshly in the wind, it was raised over the downturned head. The blade was as sharp as any steel knife. Pupil-less eyes flared, hatred written in every curve of its aquiline face.

"Oh my gods, Percy…" Grover muttered. "It's real. You aren't crazy. And I don't think that that's a good thing."

_"Ereeee…"_

"Run for it?" Grover suggested weakly. Percy nodded, eyeing the statue through the corners of his eyes. If he didn't knew better, he would swear that the rasping carried by the wind was its way of talking.

Edging to the side, they broke into an adrenaline borne sprint through the trees. Brambles tugged at their sleeves, and several times, roots threatened to bring them down.

Waves of blood crashed in Percy's ears, drowning out their fevered pants and the cracking of the branches he plowed through. Cuts littered all exposed skin, tearing with tiny teeth.

When faced with imminent death, the only thought was to get away.

_"… buuuuussss…"_

The wind shrieked out a mournful note.

_"I haaaave cooome…"_

"Keep running," Percy gasped out.

_"… fooor yooouu, old frieeend…"_

They burst through the trees, scattering bits of twigs and brambles everywhere. Hands on their knees, they didn't dare stop, and ran towards the little group of students huddled at the yellow school bus.

Mr. Kent was counting heads with a vexed expression on his face. At Grover's shout, he turned to face them.

"Where have you two been?" he demanded.

Grover didn't answer. His face twisted, and he took several hitching breaths.

"Oh, no," he wheezed out. "The gas smell… I'm gonna sneeze."

Percy's eyes widened, and he shouted, "Grover, no!"

But it was already too late.

Grover doubled over and sneezed.

There was the tearing sound of wind brushing through forest, faster than the eye could see.

Then silence. Silence that consumed the world.

Nancy Bobofit was the first to speak again. None of her usual bluster was present in her voice, and it shook harder than a leaf in the wind.

"Percy…"

Her tone was strange. Percy opened his eyes from where they were closed. He couldn't watch himself die, to see his life flash by in the form of a stone blade.

Yet he was unharmed.

He turned to Nancy inquisitively. "What?" he asked, inspecting the backs of his hands. Nothing.

Her face was white, whiter than snow, and it made her freckles stand out in vivid contrast. Her lips were trembling, and she looked like she might burst into tears or throw up at any moment.

It took a few seconds for Percy to realize that the sound of dripping wasn't from the blood caked around his sleeves, and that the pool of wetness gradually growing around his feet wasn't from melted snow.

He turned in time to see Mr. Kent's head come off his shoulders.

A stone blade completed its arc, flicking blood in a wide semi-circle around him. It was staring straight at Percy, eyes wild, teeth bared.

Cold, clenching terror.

"Don't blink!" he shouted to his classmates. Usually, they never would have listened to him, but some kind of power seeped into his voice, and they obeyed his words without a second thought. Taking a deep breath, he said again, this time in a calmer voice:

"Don't blink. If you do, they'll kill us all."

He was going to be sick. He might not have liked Mr. Kent, but _god_. That was a gruesome way to die.

And he sure as hell did not want to follow.

"Okay," he continued in a low voice, soothing as if talking to cornered animals. There wasn't much difference anyways, and if he Didn't take charge, they were all going to die. "We're going to cross the street. Don't blink. Don't turn your back on it. It'll be okay."

"Why not the bus?" someone demanded.

"Because it _will_ catch up. It's not a matter of time, but a definite fact. And trust me, you don't want to be in a closed space when it does."

"Okay. Follow me, guys," said Grover. He averted his gaze from Mr. Kent's headless body, which was sprawled bonelessly in the snow, thin liquid still mixing in with the slush around his rapidly cooling body.

The head was lying several meters away, still wearing a look of surprise. It had been too quick a death for him to feel the pain.

That didn't make him feel any better about it.

His class, once loud and boisterous, followed the crippled kid across the road. Percy remained in the very back, and he could swear that the angel's eyes followed his every movement, gleaming with unholy glee.

They almost got hit by cars multiple times. Running across several lanes of traffic, a cacophony of car horns followed their dogged retreat.

Their feet touched the sidewalk, hurdling over the curb and the parked cars. Cheeks were flecked with cold, interspersed with the white of fear.

"I don't believe this," someone muttered. Jack, Percy thought it was. His daddy was some rich guy that coddled his only son to the point that he became a spoiled brat that couldn't understand subtlety if it came up and bit him on the ass.

He was crying. His macho act lay forgotten.

"This isn't real!" he shouted. "You're setting us up, Percy! It's not funny, call off your little gang!"

The angel was suddenly standing on the curb, the front of its carved business suit stained with new blood.

Then, a truck passed, obscuring it from view.

Percy's breath seized. His eyes scanned fervently for it, and he found the statue crouching on the crosswalk to their left, glaring with rimless eyes. Its wings were half extended, and cracks webbed the ground at its feet.

Something hard crashed into Percy's jaw and sent him skidding across the pavement, narrowly avoiding getting run over by a car.

Grover shouted in anger, and several others screamed.

Jack stood above him, expression wild, his right hand still red with blush-blood.

"Call them off!" he screamed out. "This isn't funny, not anymore, Jac—"

His voice was cut off when a marble finger pressed itself to his lips, pinching his lips closed, cutting through flesh.

The angel had come.

Another hand cupped the back of his head, deceivingly gentle. Claws sunk into his brain. His terrified eyes scanned each of them, meeting their eyes, begging, pleading for help.

Help that would never come. They all knew it.

His eyes lost their emotion and rolled backwards, revealing the whites. His entire body shook several times, each tremor tearing themselves out of his body. Wordless noises made its way past his gaping lips, and Percy knew that he was screaming on the inside.

Blood spilled from his mouth, his ears, and eyes, his nose, staining the front of the angel's clothing. Its face was contorted with sadistic satisfaction.

And it was over as soon as it had begun. Mercifully.

Jack's body fell to the ground, knees impacting the dirty snow, just like Mr. Kent's had.

His head did not go with it.

Percy watched the blood drip. A kind of numb grimness set in the pit of his stomach. Turning to the angel, he shouted, "Is it me you want? Is that it?!"

Beside him, Grover yelled, "No, Percy! You're more important, we have to run! Chiron can help us. I can't fail again!"

Percy ignored him. He didn't know who this Chiron was, but it would be too late anyways. Gritting his teeth, he ran onto the road, narrowly avoiding death by car.

"Well, come and get me then! Leave them alone!"

Stupid hero complex, always getting him into stupid situations. This was such a bad idea. But there was no going back now.

The angel's head seemed to turn.

A BMW swerved past in the lane next to him, so close that he could reach out a hand and scratch off the fancy paint job if he wanted. In the glossy windows, he saw a distorted image of the angel creeping along the side of the road, following him with those dead eyes.

He heard a loud, frenzied blare, and looked up to see the massive grill of a semi-tractor trailer coming full speed at him. The wheels squealed. He could see the driver shouting, desperately pounding on the emergency break—

Cold fingers closed around his neck.

A blunt, heavy force tore up every bone in his body. The feeling of fire. Explosions rang, crumpling pavement. There were screams, but they were so far away, so unimportant…

Cold stone pressed against his body.

Then darkness.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>Gradually, he became aware of an incessant beeping noise, fluctuating between frenetic and shrill. Starched white sheets pressed up against him.<p>

He opened his eyes, fighting back against heavy eyelids. His head swam, and the too bright colors helped none.

For a few minutes, he stared in bemusement at the wall.

His name was Percy.

He was twelve.

Why was he in a hospital?

He got hit by a really big truck. The thought came instantly. But something about that didn't seem right, he was missing something…

White eyes flecked with blood.

The headlights shining through the little triangle of space created between the sword and the upraised arm.

Then pain.

… the angel.

The angel.

Where was…? What was…? What…?

His breathing began to pick up. The beeping got faster, and faster until it was only a blur to him, shrieking wordlessly in his ears.

It was coming. It was coming for him. He needed to get out.

He ripped the IV out of his wrist, ignoring the spray of blood that stained the starched white sheets. He tore out the breathing apparatus they'd inserted into his nose and mouth, throwing it away against the wall until the plastic cracked.

He was vaguely aware that the door had burst open, and people in white coats had streamed through like ants. Their grabbing hands clutched his arms and legs, holding him down as he screamed. One's hand tried to cover his mouth, but he yelled and bit down, tasting blood.

He thought he heard someone scream his name.

Then a needle jabbed into his neck. The plunger depressed, sending jets of ice cold liquid into his veins.

And he knew no more.

* * *

><p>The next time he woke, there was a funny weightlessness in his head.<p>

"Ooh," he giggled, swatting his hands over his head as if to catch invisible birds. He couldn't move his left arm, though, because it was strapped down with thick cords. He pulled at it with a petulant frown.

Then a lump in the chair next to his bed jerked awake.

"Percy!" he said in surprise. "Oh man, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Percy grinned at the figure, who still hadn't quite cleared up in his vision. It looked like there were two of them.

"Wheeee…"

Both figures blinked. They leaned forward in an uncanny reflection of each other.

"Percy, what…?"

"It's the morphine talking."

A new figure in a motorized wheelchair entered the room, the wheels clicking happily on polished linoleum floors.

The first stood up.

"Chiron!"

"Please, Grover, it's still Mr. Brunner for the time being."

Percy suddenly decided that it was a wonderful time to have his opinion heard.

"Pony man!" he shouted, pointing accusingly at Mr. Brunner, before his finger swerved to Grover. "Goat boy!" Beaming at them, he jabbed his thumb into his chest. "Aquaman!"

Mr. Brunner coughed into his hand,. "I, ah, think it's time to take him off the morphine."

Grover stifled a snort of amusement, his lips reluctantly twitching upwards.

"Yeah. It's weird to see Percy like this. I guess he's stable enough for ambrosia and nectar?"

In response, Mr. Brunner pulled out a flask and a carefully wrapped package from the inside pocket of his vest. Pouring some into a paper cup, he nodded at Grover.

"Pull the needle. It won't trigger the doctors. I've made sure of that."

Grover nodded, unclamping the restraints around Percy's legs before gingerly pulling the needle through his flesh. A bead of blood welled through the deep puncture wound. Grover turned a bit green.

"Ughh," he mumbled. "This is why I'm vegetarian."

Percy's eyes cleared immediately, and he hissed in pain, his hands going to his eyes as if he was trying to press his brain back into his head.

Mr. Brunner wheeled himself closer, and gently took Percy's clenched hand in his, coaxing a bit of nectar into the frightened demigod. When he didn't spontaneously combust on the spot, Mr. Brunner looked grimly satisfied, as though a terrible theory of his had been confirmed.

"Mr. Brunner?" Percy asked slowly, coughing into his fist. He was promptly shushed and a square piece of ambrosia was pushed into his hand.

"Eat," he commanded firmly. Percy's brow scrunched slowly.

"It's not… drugs or something, is it?" he asked in suspicion. Mr. Brunner's eyebrows quirked in amusement.

"I assure you, it is not."

Percy slowly bit into it, and his eyes widened when it tasted of his mother's chocolate chip cookies. Some color returned to his face, so that he didn't seem as sickly as he had been before.

"What is this?" he asked in amazement. Mr. Brunner leaned back and smiled.

"It's quite amazing what the power of home will do to a person."

"What happened? What are you doing here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Ahh… what I am doing here. That is the easier of the two. To answer your question, is it wrong for a teacher to visit his favorite student?" He smiled and ruffled Percy's hair, who scowled at him.

"Mr. Brunner, I almost failed your class for the last few months."

"You might to be the most academically advanced," here, Grover snickered, "but you have the biggest heart. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did."

"Er… what exactly did I do, again?"

Mr. Brunner grew uncommonly grave. He leaned forward in his wheelchair, staring at Percy intently through steepled fingers.

"Have you heard Lacrimosa, Percy?"

_—a pedestal worn by time—_

"No."

"He was a genius. Absolutely brilliant mind. He could easily have come up with the cures to every ailment that plagued mankind. But he was touched by darkness. By greed."

This was new to him, but Percy couldn't help but ask, "How does this relate to me?"

"He was a serial killer, Percy. He came after your class. After you, specifically."

…oh.

But… "What happened to the angel? I swear I didn't imagine that."

"Lacrimosa means weeping in Latin. Like I said, he was a prodigy. But he was bored with the world. None could give him a good enough challenge, so he began to pit himself against the police, taunting them to catch him before his next victim. He designed a kind of hallucinogenic drug that would allow the victim to see him as a weeping angel. He loved to toy with his prey. That was the best part, watching them squirm, knowing that death was coming to them but was unable to stop it."

Percy shivered slightly.

"So… none of it was real?" he asked, hating how hopeful he sounded. Mr. Brunner shook his head gravely.

"I'm afraid that that isn't quite true, either. There were casualties. Your teacher, Mr. Kent, and your classmate, Jack Avon."

The angel's eyes, glaring through stony depths.

"Where's my mom?" he asked suddenly. Mr. Brunner smiled at him, sadly this time.

"Outside the door, listening in. If my guess is correct, she's anxiously pacing outside with a worried air that only mothers can achieve. Grover, come. We'll leave them in peace now." Addressing Percy once more, he said quietly, "Don't blame yourself for their deaths, Percy. You did good. If it wasn't for your quick thinking, a lot more people would have died."

"I… I know," he replied, but his tone was bland and carried no life. He pulled his knees close to his chest, hugging it. "Can I see her now?"

The words were barely out of his mouth when the door was smashed open and a blur of brown burst through, enveloping him in a too-tight hug.

"Oh, my baby boy," she sobbed, petting his hair. Percy let her fuss. Were his bandages too tight? Did it hurt? Did he need anything? Wisely, Mr. Brunner and Grover and retreated.

It was almost as though she expected him to disappear.

"I'm fine, Mom," he complained, wincing as she tugged too hard on his injured arm. "What… what happened? Mr. Brunner said something about a serial killer."

Something too fast to decipher flashed on her face, before it was wiped away.

"Yes. Lacrimosa." She slid her phone towards him, and he took it with aching fingers.

It was a late-night news report. The title was dated seven days ago. Had he been out for so long?

"—_has been finally solved,"_ the anchorman was saying, shuffling his papers and staring into the camera._ "The numerous cold cases ranging between 1978 and 1993 had been an ongoing mystery for police. The serial killer Lacrimosa is responsible for more than forty deaths and disappearances, and was killed upon resisting arrest, late last night. Casualties included Alexander Kent, a history teacher at Yancy Academy, who will be receiving a posthumous award for his bravery and diligence in defending his students; and Jack Avon, heir to Avon Industries, who had unluckily been caught by a stray bullet—"_

Life ended so easily. An arm drawn back; a finger pulled.

Percy grimaced.

As if a piece of metal stamped with a fancy design could make up for the sudden and gaping hole in their families. As if they really cared about that.

He snapped the phone shut.

They were silent for a few moments more.

"Mom," he suddenly said, his eyes fixed on the roving snowflakes fluttering outside the window. They would have a white Christmas after all. "Promise me something."

Sally came forward and clasped his hands. "Oh, honey, you know I'd do anything. Name it."

He paused for a few moments, silently pondering if she would understand this need inside of him, this primal fear. Even if Mr. Brunner said that it was not real, to him, it always will be.

"Don't put the angel on top of the tree tonight."


	17. Inguz (Isolation)

**Author's Notes—**mixed reactions for the last chapter. Some horrified, some confused, some loved it, some yelled, "Doctor Who!" For the latter, yes, it was. I have to say that the weeping angels were some of the most frightening of the series.

For those of you confused about the last chapter, it was technically a "flashback" to when Percy was in Yancy. It is _not_ reincarnation. Percy isn't dead, despite what anyone might think. I just figured that most of you probably wouldn't appreciate reading 9k words in italics. I know I wouldn't.

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong> — I'll do it slightly different today, partly because many of the replies focus on the same issue, and if I do them all like I usually do, this chapter will have to be delayed a few more days, since my free time ends today.

To answer: _"Was that a Doctor Who reference?"_ for **_ShotgunWilly, SpartanWarrior117, Clefspear, Evillar, AlphaOmega314, wisdomsdaughteriscrazy_ **— why yes, it was. I don't watch a lot of Doctor Who, and I didn't even know the Angels existed until my friend decided it'd be very funny to lend me her laptop. Unfortunately, it had a changing slideshow of Weeping Angels. Coupled with the fact that it was about one in the morning... I almost threw it at the wall.

To answer:_ "Who's dead at the moment?"_ for_** Intellectually**_ — anyone dead before Battle of the Labyrinth is and will remain dead. Everyone except for Michael Yew is dead from The Last Olympian. Annabeth died. Everyone else (including Romans) are still alive.

**Other Reviews— Epicreads** - thank you! :) **Menaphite** - hello! I'm very happy that you liked the last chapter. Lacrimosa is actually a pseudonym, and his identity is revealed this chapter (but yes, you got it correct that he is the one from the Vault). vepo's identity is a bit more complicated than most reviewers have guessed, but they have the general gist correct, and so do you. **prince of the seas** - thank you. **Tally Jennifer Youngblood -** I guess they really meant it when they said that trouble follows Percy everywhere ;) **WickedMidnights** - thank you. And hey, whatever gave you that idea? **Intellectually** - about the length, technically, I could have combined these two chapters, but it would have been over 20k and I think for some people, it might've been too hard to read in one sitting. The last chapter was a bit of a flashback to explain why there's suddenly a statue mass-murdering people around here. And I'll take my time to ensure quality, I promise... I just hope it won't be too long. **Starstryker97** - thank you :) **Red Lightning Bolt** - that's what I was aiming for, so I'm glad that it is! **BigBird97** - if you would like, I can send a PM to you and you can ask anything that you're not quite certain of at the moment. **MortalFantasy0002** - in my biased opinion, I'm not a very big fan of the second series. Everything seems too convenient with no foreshadowing in the first, and it's as though RR is dragging on the books to create more fame. I've been getting most of my information of the characters off the internet, because I can't seem to force myself to read them anymore. Anyways, I'm glad the last chapter was alright, and hope that this chapter is okay as well. **guest** - thank you very much! :) **evelyn. garza** **.35** - thank you. **Guest** **(Saphira_bellacque)**- yes, Order was working with someone else as well (it's later on in this chapter). And yes, Erebus put him into Tartarus, so naturally, he carries a very big grudge about that. I'm very pleased that you like it, and the Weeping Angel is a reference to DW. **RxR4ever** - oh I don't know, I think your English is quite good. The Angel is, actually, going to be rather important as an antagonist in the story. Aether will eventually begin to look like Nico, but probably only the eye color. Anyways, thank you for reviewing, and I hope you like this chapter as well :)** I am Ali Daughter of Nyx -** I hope this update was quick enough! **WideOpenSpacesGirl045** - aww, well, I'm really glad you liked it :) Thank you for sticking with me so long. **DeathmatchDrunkard** - no, not quite. Percy wasn't reincarnated. It was more of a "flashback" chapter, to explain why there's suddenly a mass-murdering statue around. I also thought that it might be very hard to read a 9k chapter done completely in italics. And as for why he looks so much like Percy... huh. You're the only one that's noticed. It's foreshadowing. Good job. **aesir21** - if it was told around a campfire, I don't think I'd be getting any sleep that night... and no problem. Glad to help. **JosephineSilver** - I've just realized... I haven't responded to your PM yet, have I? Might as well do it now. Sure, send me the link when your story is up :) **Nomoreturningaway** - I've always liked statues, but definitely not at night. I always feel like they'll jump out of stone to get me. Have you seen a big museum (like the Louvre, for instance) when it's near closing time? It's pretty bad.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>"Three can keep a secret, if two are dead."<br>_(Benjamin Franklin)_

**Chapter I  
><em>Inguz<em>**

Ҵ

_Rune for isolation, separation, process._

The day had dawned bright and clear, but by mid-morning, a light wind had brought over a light dusting of rain and a fair, cool breeze.

Aether still had not woken, and Nyx was finally thrown out of his rooms by the nurses. Her hovering was only _getting in the way _of the trained medics and qualified personnel, so she'd been reduced to pacing the halls with a lost expression on her face, which was only one pathetic step up.

But she could feel their eyes on them. Sympathetic. _I'm sorry for your loss._

Nyx hated it. Sometimes, when a trickle of hysteria entered her thoughts and she could no longer push _it_ down, she felt the sudden, sweet urge to rip their faces off, to bathe in the blood of disbelievers.

They acted as though Aether was already dead.

_"—make them sing for me, little birdie. Let me hear their sweet, sweet screams—"_

Nyx pushed away the voices forcefully, blinking the images out of her head. She couldn't afford to lose control.

He was not. He wasn't. He was only... incapacitated for an undeterminable amount of time.

She slammed her chamber doors behind her, making the wood crack with the impact. As if she had some kind of infectious plague, the lower-ranked soldiers and servants parted before her rage. A high, crooning note shrieked in her ears until it was all she could hear, along with her frenzied breathing. Her vision was a blaze of red.

"No…" she gasped, squeezing her eyes closed, forcing back the ocean. "Not now."

The squelch of metal cutting through grisly flesh and bone pierced through air.

-o-

When she regained control, she was standing at the edge of a cliff, overlooking Ordis in resplendent glory. The wind whipped her face, bringing color to pale cheeks. Gasping, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, allowing herself a small moment of weakness.

It had been coming off and on, the red haze. In those times, she could never quite remember all that happened. Only impressions of images, of voices. She refused to see a doctor, not after… several painful experiences.

Was she being possessed?

There was a bow and sheath of arrows slung over her shoulders, rattling against each other. She noticed that some of the arrow tips were slightly wet, as though something had been accidentally splattered over it. Examining the backs of her hands, she noticed how her sleeves were also stained. Running the pad of her thumb over the edge of the arrow, she brought it to her nose and sniffed carefully.

Blood.

Frowning, her hand dropped, and she slowly took in her surroundings.

The round tips of the trees jutted out under the cliff, big as the head of a pin. A narrow, winding stream cut through one side, reflecting the cool blue of the sky. She could block out the entire sun with one thumb.

A whisper of warning in the very back of her mind.

There was something there. Close, too close for comfort. She ducked behind a tree, weapons clasped to her chest. Nyx took a slow breath, and then, with daggers brandished, leapt out from her cover—

_(ohmygodsno)_

The weapons dropped from limp hands.

What she had initially taken to be a dead horse or some kind of woodland creature wasn't one at all. Upon closer inspection, she could see slightly curled fingers, clenched over the ragged edge of a short, sickeningly familiar arrow.

_(it can't be)_

He was sprawled awkwardly against the ground, half hidden by the outcrop of rocks. If she didn't look closely, it was easy to miss him altogether. Bloody handprints flecked the ground, and at one point, she could see how his hands trailed uselessly against the stone. Too tired to stop the fate that loomed over him, sharper than any monster's maw.

She came close enough the recognize the twisted expression, the mannerisms that remained even when the soul did not.

Green eyes. Glassy. Unseeing.

There was an arrow jutting from his left eye.

_("traitor," her brain said, but her heart murmured "brother")_

A surge of panic clamped its clammy fingers down her throat.

"Oh, _Chaos, no_. Erebus… no, no no no!"

Her heart thudded against her ribcage, threatening to tear itself out in a magnificent spray of gore. The world spun; suddenly, she was on her knees, sinking deeply into the loam-like mud, squelching indents pulling her down into the silty surface.

Her hands splayed in blood soaked earth, seeping in thin rivulets down the encrusted surface. It was a muddy crimson that clung to her fingers, leaving streaks of color against otherwise pale cheeks.

A rough-hewn emblem of desperation.

Her breath came in short gasps, drowned out by the screaming she was doing on the inside.

"Erebus, say something, please, say anything, don't be dead, please don't be…"

She dragged him into her lap, scrabbling at the dirt and blood marring his face, but it was in vain. She could only see the right side, which was barely recognizable from bruising. The left was thrown into deep shadow, and she saw a trail of blood slowly arch down his forehead, deep black in color.

Her lips parted and useless words streamed from her mouth, ones that meant nothing more than sweet delusions. She'd spent so much of her life speaking only lies that in some ways, she was starting to believe them.

"It's going to be okay, Erebus," she babbled. She hugged him close, burying his head into her chest, trying to stave off the agonized shrieking from the cold crevasse that had once been her heart.

Erebus' face was pale and drawn, as though he was suffering under some kind of unimaginable pain that existed only in the deepest recesses of his mind. A dull green eye opened, unfocused, blank.

Somehow, that was even worse, to see the lifeless spark in those vacant eyes that had once been so full of anger and hurt. There was no deceit now.

"Are you… happy now?" His head dropped to the crook of her neck, deathly cold, as though he was too tired to hold it up much longer. She felt something dropping through her armor and down her spine. "This is all your… fault, isn't… it?"

Her fingertips hovered over his unseeing eyes, indecisive, trembling with agony.

"… please, 'Res, I never meant for this to happen… I'm so sorry, so, so sorry, I was wrong, I was stupid, and," she cursed when his entire body went lax in her arms, shaking his shoulders in fright. It probably wasn't the best thing to do with a severely injured person, but her mind wasn't working straight and a note of hysteria rose in her throat.

"Stay with me, don't go to sleep, breathe, we'll get you back, you'll be alright, we'll convince Order to lighten your sentence—"

Erebus' entire body was wracked in a sudden coughing fit, making him double over, half tumbling out of Nyx's frantic grasp. His face twisted together and he turned away, a shaking hand covering his mouth, unsuccessfully hiding the way his lips gleamed crimson afterwards.

"I… trusted you…"

The words were so breathtakingly innocent, coming from the mouth of such a war-torn being, that Nyx's voice stuck in her throat. It was the sound of Death's rattle.

"You betrayed… me. You, this, this is your doing…"

And then she watched as Erebus' body began to bubble, as though someone had put a kettle to fire. With a hollow shriek, his skin melted away to reveal hollow bones, the gaping wound through her eye leering angrily at her. A cage of bones.

He finally turned around all the way, smiling eerily.

"I am dead…" His voice was an odd mixture of its usual refined tones and the grinding effort needed to talk. "'Tis your fault. You killed me… it was you all along…"

The left side of his face was in a grotesque state of decay. The gleam of white bone poked out from underneath astringent muscles and sinews. As she watched, the left side of his mouth curled into a sickening smile, a gap in his flesh pulling with the motion to reveal grinning white teeth, too sharp and too white.

"You see now, what you have done…"

Nyx's tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She reeled back as if punched, eyes widened with unadulterated shock.

"But…"

"But _Order_ said you were guilty, and I _must_ bend over to satisfy his every whim," Erebus mimicked in a falsetto. There was a strange glint in his eyes, one she had never seen him use before. The Erebus she thought she knew was slightly sarcastic, reserved, and cold, but never so blatantly mocking.

There was a short, decaying pause.

"You took his words as the truth. In the end, you still do not understand. You and I and Aether, we fought together, bled together, saw each others' worse moments. Don't tell me a few false words could sway you so easily."

He began to push himself up on hands and knees, fleshy bones cracking. She could see internal organs —oh gods, was that his heart?— dangling from the rough fist-sized hole in his chest. It looked as though someone had tried to cut him in half but failed.

Fine blue veins dotted with the purple of bruising littered the exposed flesh of his throat, almost translucent in color. She could imagine what it would feel to raise her arm and close the distance, to feel his heartbeat thrumming under her fingers, strong and steady and reassuring.

But there wasn't one.

Then she felt a slow rumbling. It took her a few seconds to realize that Erebus was laughing. It was an ugly sound, full of malice.

"Fix your mistakes… find him… seek out my killer… it is the least you can do."

Then he stepped back, his boots sinking slightly into the mud. In that instant, he looked so much like Perseus of the Darkness that she cried out in pain, reaching for him, her eyes silently begging him not to go, not to leave her.

The hiss of chains.

A statue stood next to him, head bowed, cast into shadow. Its marble hands were covering his face mournfully.

Then, faster than she could see, its arms were now crossed over its chest instead of its face, exposing painfully green eyes—the only source of color among a sea of white. Wings ruptured from its back, extending upwards. A sword was strapped to his back.

_ανακλυσμοσ_

Chains.

Dragging on the ground, carving thin furrows into the grass. Hanging from bound hands. Locking around the odd, misshapen collar around his neck. Swaying gently in the wind from around broken, skeletal wings.

Closed over his mouth. Binding his words shut.

Eyes stared.

Erebus was still standing next to the statue, a ghostly flicker in pale light. He shook his head and turned away. There was a cold smile on his lips, a teasing, vicelike gesture. He whispered to Nyx, his words ironic, echoing back from a darker time:

"—guess I'll see you in hell, after all."

Stone hands closed around her throat.

* * *

><p>Nyx awoke with a start.<p>

Her heart was racing, and she couldn't get enough air.

Taking several deep breaths, she surveyed her surroundings. Trees. Forest. Cliff. She'd fallen asleep watching the clouds.

Still, some part of the dream felt too real, hit too close to home for Nyx to dismiss it as a common nightmare. Her hands went to her throat. There were slivers of truth buried deep within.

Erebus… he'd spoken of things he shouldn't have known, not consciously, at least. He spoke of things that should have been forgotten to time. She'd learned to trust her dreams. And it had just told her that Erebus was dead.

_Seek my killer…_

No. Surely not. She was deluded. Order was the only one who could give death penalties, and he wouldn't do that without Aether wake first.

Revelation struck her, slipping fast and sudden and robbing her of breath.

… unless he never expected Aether to wake again.

She took a dizzying step forward, towards the castle. She needed to find out for herself. No more wallowing and blind following. Not if someone was daring to play with their lives.

Her left foot struck something fleshy and soft.

_(a warning)_

A dribble of fine stone dust. A young buck lay sprawled at her feet, its left eye gored by an arrow.

* * *

><p>She strode in unannounced, flinging the bow to one side and the quiver to the other. They struck against potted plants and useless pieces of décor with a loud crash, sending millions of crystalline glass fragments to the ground.<p>

"Where is he?" she snarled to the nearest guard, who, by the half eaten sandwich laying forgotten in his trembling hands, had been in the middle of his lunch break. Not that Nyx cared. Anger rolled off of her in thick, tangible waves.

The guard fell to his knees before her, prostrated beseechingly. "My… My Lady… what is it you require of us?"

"Take me to Erebus," she commanded, her voice clear, imperious in nature. "It is urgent."

At the name, several guards flinched. One slowly made for the door, eyeing the distance between salvation and Nyx, as though gauging his chances for escaping unscathed.

"Your Highness… I cannot…"

The guard cowered when Nyx's eyes flashed with dangerous light, but did not back away. "Lord Order has specifically stated that anyone wishing to see the prisoner must go through his approval first."

"He wouldn't mind my intrusion, then. Let me pass. Order is a busy man, and he has no time for your squabbles."

The guard wavered, and she could see that all he would need was a gentle push to change his mind. She opened her mouth—

"On the contrary, I have more than enough time," a smooth voice interjected. The ruler strode in purposefully, his heavy cloak swishing around his ankles. The guards dropped to kiss the hem of his clothes.

She stiffened, her back facing the newcomer, and shut her eyes in frustration. She had been so _close_.

Instinct warned her that nothing should be taken as it seemed. There was a peculiar expression warring for dominance on Order's face, one she could not identify. Bowing to disguise her impatience, she said, "My Lord Order. What brings you here today?"

Order raised a thin, arching eyebrow adroitly. "I could ask the same of you, my dear Nyx."

Putting on a façade of lighthearted airiness, she waved her hand dismissively. "Aether's condition worries me greatly, but there is nothing I can do for him now. But the medics and nurses are such; medical staff, not T&I department experts. Perhaps I may be of use in that function."

Order reached out and patted her shoulder, squeezing it slightly before letting go. The weight of his hand was cold and heavy, a thick warning.

"I was thinking the same. Let us go together, then. What says you?"

'No!' Inner Nyx screamed, but on the outside, she only put on her best charming smile, dipped into a curtsey, and replied, "Of course, my Lord. That is a wonderful idea."

Order smiled. "I thought so." He snapped his fingers, and immediately, several guards snapped into salutes. "Take us to maximum security, last cell."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused, and fell into line, flanking them from every side. Nyx scowled behind her hand, fingering the edge of her knife in nervous anticipation.

They passed rows of cells, stacked like steel matchboxes on top of each other. Fingers were curled around the grimy bars, leering faces filled with yellowing teeth visible from between the striped shadows flicking on their faces through their torches. The entire place reeked of decaying corpses and urine.

"Free me, sweetheart…"

"…please, please, I didn't do it, I swear!"

"…nnmmrugh…"

"…water… please, water…"

Nyx averted his gaze and plowed forth with a steely resolution. They were the worst the dimensions had to offer, and deserved not a scrap of pity. Murderers, abusers, kinslayers were only the beginning. It was better if they died; the world had enough people like them, too many to count, and one less would not make a difference.

_(did that make it right)_

The corridors became increasingly narrow, so that they had to awkwardly shuffle into a single line. They twisted and turned, countless dead-end crevices splitting apart to lead into the darkness. At points, Nyx's head brushed the ceiling. Order was practically stooped over, like an old man. He didn't seem to mind or care.

"What was this designed for?" she said, scowling as a bit of plaster rained down on her nose.

An unnamed guard, somewhere to the back of their entourage, said, "The farther along we get, the smaller the corridor is. It makes it easy for us to cave in the path or to pick off any escaping prisoners."

"Erebus wasn't in one of these cells before. You've relocated him without express permission," she accused.

Order slipped his hand onto her arm and squeezed warningly.

"Peace, Nyx. I gave them clearance to do so."

"Because of what?" she demanded, the words of the dreams still echoing uneasily in her head. She was well aware of her less-than-polite tone of voice irritating Order, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment.

"There was a trial, and he had been found guilty," Order explained patiently. "You were not able to be there because of crucial mission in the South. He has been sentenced to a life-long imprisonment there, in the maximum security wing."

Here. In this dank pit of space.

Nyx knew for a fact that even if Erebus could grit his teeth and tolerate small spaces, she still saw his fists shaking from how hard he'd clenched them. She saw how his pupils dilated, every muscle tensing as if to fight an invisible foe.

She remembered.

They stopped at a door. The very last one. A guard with a large ring of silver keys fumbled the smallest one into the lock, and the rust-stained barred door shrieked open, a long, labored groan emanating from the hinges.

A rectangular shade of light spilled inside, changing shapes as the door opened wider, until its back was touching the other side of the wall. Someone doused all the torches but one.

Inside was darkness. Nyx couldn't see five inches into the shadows, which she could swear were writhing in agitation, forming wispy fingers that wrapped around her wrists and at one point, tried to strangle Order. But they dissipated upon touch, leaving only a dying, human-like cry of anger and a sudden burst of cold mist.

It took a second for her eyes to adjust.

There was a small figure hunched in the furthermost corner of the cell, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, and head nestled unceremoniously on top of them, shielding his face from view.

Nyx let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"Erebus," she called out, her tone wavering between hatred and confliction.

There was no answer.

Beside her, Order frowned and stepped forward, ignoring the protesting cries of the guard. He shrugged off their pleads not to go farther.

"Erebus, I command you, speak."

Once again, there was no reply. Order knelt and placed two long fingers against his exposed neck, flinching backwards when his skin began to sizzle and turn black, then blue.

Frostbite.

Nyx took the torch and approached. She grabbed a fistful of Erebus' dark hair and yanked his head up. He made no response. His eyes were filled with surprise, illuminated by the flickering light of the torch. Pale lips were parted, snarling defiantly at her, revealing the tips of sharp teeth.

But when his expression did not change after a few moments, tiny details suddenly popped out at her. How his pupils didn't dilate, how his eyes were blank and glassy in the light. How his posture was too uncontrolled and stiff.

"No…" she whispered, half in shock, half in denial.

She dropped him and he crumpled to the ground, in too awkward and clumsy a gesture to be fake. The torch in her hand shook.

Order picked up one of Erebus' hands with his glove, tracing a jagged mark against porcelain-colored skin. The fingers had been clenched into a fist, but they were beginning to loosen. A flicker of an indescribable emotion passed over his face, too fast and fleeting for Nyx to determine.

_(triumph?)_

"He shows very light signs of possession, ones that have been badly covered up. It is evident that he put up a struggle and was electrified to death soon after. You can tell by the marks. Approximate time of death… not long ago. Rigor mortis has not set in. It does after three or four hours."

Red consumed Nyx's vision. Her voice sounded doubled, even to her ears. The guards backed away, cowering at the other end of the hallway, as deathly intent poured out of her form, saturating the air.

"Tell me… _who did it?"_

Order fixed her with a silent, assessing gaze.

"Who uses lightning?"

Through the murk of her thoughts, a rapid coagulation of half-created ideas and memories reeled around her in a massive whirlpool, all centered around one name.

Zeus.

His Master Bolt.

The Olympians.

A howl of rage escaped her mouth.

The rasp of metal scraping against metal. A hiss on the wind. Instincts screamed.

Nyx turned in time to block a blow aimed for her head. Sparks screeched against the celestial bronze blade. Her eyes narrowed, the red aura pouring from her body, cloaking her in a thick shroud. Ozone darkened.

A statue. It wasn't the one from her dreams. This one felt… older, malicious. The other had only given her a feeling of being lost in a vast world of silence. Somehow, she couldn't decide which was worse.

It was covered in bloodstains, long dried, with some fresh ones, still trickling down the front of his business suit. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Erebus, but there were so many differences all the while.

Chains wrapped around him, but they were thinner, more easily broken.

"Who are you?" she snarled out, her vision fluctuating between double and normal rapidly, filled with a high, ringing shriek that came from the inside of her head.

It was only instinct that allowed her to drop to the ground in time. Displaced wind blew her hair back, so close that she knew that if she had moved a split second later, she would have been impaled on the spot, Primordial or not.

The guards weren't so lucky. She heard the wet slurps, the sudden cries cut short.

The blade returned to the statue, its edge stained with new blood, coalescing off the tip in slow, methodical plinks. She didn't dare to look behind her. Order drew his sword, his eyes narrowed. The hiss of metal rang reassuringly in Nyx's ears.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice twisted in an ugly, dangerous way, the usual amicable façade dropping away.

When she blinked, she noticed that the statue's head had been thrown back, eyes squinted in a cold, hard laugh. A whisper was borne on the wind, a thin, melding howl of grinding stones.

_"…keeep yoour promissee, Orrderr…"_

The statue still standing several meters in front of her, its right hand wrapped around several prison bars, curling over the stiff metal.

Then cold hands were cupping her face, rapidly leeching away her warmth.

She stared into blank grey eyes, the slender bridged nose, the thinly pursed mouth, and growled. There was an invading prod at the base of her skull, a sharp, sudden pain. She slammed her sword through its chest…

It crumpled.

The sword, not the statue.

Shards ricocheted, the protective runes Perseus had once carved painstakingly onto the metal fading away in a mist of gold, leaving only scratches behind.

_"—I did not know what to get you, but your current sword is absolute rubbish. I took the time to modify this one, and you had better not break it as well—"_

A blow came from behind. Piercing through her armor, severing what she knew to be important nerves. Only one knew of her blind spot. And that was the one standing behind her, the entire time.

Flowers bloomed in the shade of her blood.

The last thing she saw was a pair of electric blue eyes, staring back from the recesses of her mind.

-o-

Order sheathed his sword, wiping off the blood with the inside of his sleeve. He prodded the motionless body with his foot, but she did not move, except to give a low moan.

"I did not expect her to put up such a fight," he admitted. "Most can't even see you move, after all."

The wind turned back into a tunnel draft, carrying with it a light hiss that might have been laughter.

Bronze glittered in the light.

Order nodded in grim acquiescence. The statue bared its bloody teeth in a maniac grin. With a breath of displaced wind, its arm came up, the sword impaling Order through the shoulder, staining the bronze with ichor.

Order threw his head back with a sharp gasp, clutching his hand to his shoulder as ichor wept between the gaps of his fingers.

"Sound… the alarm…" he wheezed out.

The statue nodded once, shortly, and its hand came down upon Order's neck. He slumped to the ground, sliding against the wall, staining a bright streak of gold against dark mortars.

With a howl of wind, all that remained were the bodies, a celestial bronze sword, and the shrieking red lights pulsing through the castle.

* * *

><p>"My sword! Where the Hades <em>is<em> it?"

Artemis ducked as a pillow flew over her head. She scowled in annoyance at her brother.

"Well, if you weren't such a _slob_, perhaps you wouldn't have _lost_ it."

"I didn't lose it, little sis," Apollo insisted, ignoring Artemis' indignant cry of _'we're twins!'_, "I swear that it was here. Right here. I put it here myself."

Poseidon walked out from the adjoining bathroom, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Is everything alright?"

Apollo's voice quieted. They all felt a bit bad about disrupting Poseidon, who had been silent and motionless since they'd seen the Percy-lookalike Primordial, two days ago. He flashed the sea god a forced, blinding grin, but his lips didn't even twitch upwards.

"Someone took my sword because it was too awesome to handle. It's no trouble. I'll find—"

Alarms blared, startling Apollo out of his speech. Throbbing red lights shone from the walls, the ceilings, bathing everything in its poisonous glow. Through the door, they could suddenly hear the frightened shouts of the servants as thundering footsteps rushed past, pushing all else aside.

"What is all of this about?"

Hera approached from where she was leaning against the wall, her shift shimmering with every movement, oil on water.

Artemis shook her head in bemusement, but her voice was cut off by Apollo's startled yelp. Her head whipping to the door, she found her foolish brother standing by the door he'd just opened, hands raised to his head as the tips of bristling weapons pointed not an inch away from his face.

"Apollo of the Olympians, you are charged with treachery and the attempted murder of two of our leaders, and for plotting with your fellow gods against the dimension of Ordis. Is your leader here?"

Poseidon pushed to the front, seemingly careless of the swords that suddenly sprung up at his face.

"I am he," he said calmly, no remainder of exhaustion present on his face.

The herald narrowed his eyes. "You are being charged with the murder and possession of the Primordial of the Endless, Erebus, a Sentinel lieutenant."

Poseidon's demeanor changed to one of surprise. This had not been what he was expecting.

"What? I assure you, we did not. All of us have not left our rooms."

"Do not play us as fools," came the stoic response. "You possessed Erebus in the Great Hall two days ago. The signs did not show until the attempted murder of Aether later that day, which has subsequently left him in a comatose state. When Erebus was thrown into prison, you attempted to offer him a way to escape by turning his back on Ordis. He reminded you of your late demigod son. When he refused, you grew angry and electrified him to death with your brother's supposedly missing Bolt.

"Your accomplice," here, the speaker's eyes cut to Apollo, ignoring Poseidon's growing anger, "he attacked our leader, Order, and his commander, Nyx, when they came to interrogate Erebus. It was to cover your tracks. You meant to subjugate our realm by slaying our leaders and taking control, since yours is fast crumbling by war."

"No!" Apollo protested, leaning backwards and eyeing the sword beginning to slice into his neck warily. "I swear we didn't! I'm the god of Truth, remember? I can't lie!"

One of the soldiers sneered. "Who knows how to kill better than a doctor who sews people back together? Who knows how to lie better that one that supposedly stands for truth?"

Something metal clattered at Apollo's feet. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the bronze blade, smeared with ichor from top to bottom.

"You will be coming with us," the speaker intoned. "All of you will stand trial. If you are found innocent, no harm will befall you. If you are guilty, you shall pay in blood."

Ares drew his sword with a bloodcurdling laugh.

"And who's to say that you can stop us?"

Finally, the first expression spread onto the speaker's face. One of triumph and cold satisfaction.

"Very well. I shall comply with my orders." He snapped his fingers, and the first soldiers leapt forth.

_"Subdue by force. Leave none standing."_

* * *

><p>Piper sat up with a cry, her blankets wrestled around thrashing legs.<p>

"Reyna!" she cried. The Roman in question looked up, her hand pausing in the air from where it was polishing her gold spear. Exhaustion lined her eyes, but at Piper's distressed voice, she sat up straighter and fixed her with a piercing gaze.

"Is something the matter, Piper?"

"He's dead, the gods are being arrested, we need to go now!"

Clarisse, who had fallen asleep sprawled over a chair, stirred sleepily.

"What's all the yelling 'bout?" she grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Piper was hysterically trying to calm her breathing. Hazel sat beside her and rubbed her back, whispering soothing things under her breath.

"Erebus… they killed him—"

Reyna's heart dropped into her stomach. Dead…?

"—and Nyx, Aether, and Order are in a severe condition—"

No, no, that was impossible. She saw how fast they moved, how skilled. No one would be able to kill them, especially not the gods.

"—and they're arresting the gods because… because… we just need to go now, before they come for us too!"

Reyna took a slow breath, steadying her shaking nerves. She could show no weakness. Lupa's words rang in her head.

"How did this happen?"

"I—I had a dream. I don't know what happened—"

There was a flash of light, blinding in intensity. Golden runes flowed like water from the impact point, twining around them before dissipating.

Twelve dark figures.

Reyna jumped out of her chair, her spear at the ready, crouching in front of Piper defensively. Clarisse grinned in bloodthirsty anticipation. Leo's hands burst into flames.

Reyna frowned and stepped forward cautiously, ignoring the shouts of warning from behind her.

"… Lord Apollo…?"

The sun god stepped out of the runic circle. He was covered in cuts and ichor, and he looked like he had a black eye. His sword was strapped to his back once more.

"Yeah, it's me, the awesome Apollo. You can celebrate my presence later. Now, we have to go. We kinda have a legion of supertrained supersoldiers after us at the moment. Eh… sorry about that."

"Prove it," Reyna accused. Mars—no, _Ares_— grinned in appreciation of her paranoia. Apollo only looked annoyed. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Err... I like haikus...?"

"What about, 'I hit on every living thing that moves…?'" Artemis mimicked in a falsetto, glaring at her brother.

"No, no, that's too vague," Apollo muttered vaguely. "Everyone knows that." He snapped his fingers, eyes brightening. "I got it! What about that time I made Hermes photocopy pictures of my face and stick it to everyone's faces so they could see my beautiful smile greeting them in the morning?"

"It took forever to get those down," Frank muttered to himself.

Reyna lowered her spear. "How did you escape?"

Poseidon gave her a tired, worn smile. There was a long gash along one of his cheeks, which was bleeding sluggishly.

"You didn't think we came here without back-up, did you? Iris and Hermes used Athena's notes to remake several more runic circles, in case we had to leave on… bad terms."

There was the pounding of footsteps along the corridor adjacent to theirs. Reyna muttered a curse under her breath.

"Everyone, get into the circle."

"..what? They might be imposters!"

"It's only a matter of lesser evils. Into the circle, now!"

There were no more complaints. Reyna hardly ever raised her voice, and when she did, it was wise to comply.

Rattles of the door knob. Someone was kicking it open.

Cracks appeared on smooth, varnished wood.

"Ready?" Hermes shouted. At their tense nod, he threw down a scrap of paper and slammed the butt of his caduceus through the centre. Runes spread from the surface, glowing with opalescent luminescence, stark white against the rapidly setting darkness.

The door burst open in a spray of splinters.

They vanished in a column of light. Angered yells rang up around them, but it was soon torn away, along with the javelins and arrows trying to pierce their runic shield.

Then there was the sensation of being pulled in all different directions at once, howling, shrieking winds reaching for them, threatening to tear them out of the protective circles the gods had surrounded around them with.

Their voices, ethereal and powerful, chanted archaic languages without stumbling, drowned out by the frenzy of the dimensions. Runes glowed in a tangible shield. Reyna caught sight of images, blurring by faster than her mind could comprehend. The entrances to the other dimensions?

At one point, there were teeth and glowing eyes, staring back hungrily at her. From the gaps in between the dimensions that Erebus had explained to them about, no doubt.

Then, as soon as it had started, it was over. Perhaps it lasted a minute, a second, or a year. It felt no different. Time had no dominion here.

Impact.

Her head hit the ground. She let her eyes flutter closed.

Gradually, the sound of shouting and footsteps pulled Reyna out of the lethargic state. She felt gentle hands cradling the back of her head, murmuring desperate words.

She opened her eyes to see the sky. No, they were sky colored.

"Jason…" she murmured softly.

That crescent scar on the top of his lip curved into a happy arc, and he embraced her tightly. Her heart fluttered. He buried his nose into her neck, breathing deeply.

"You're back," he said, his voice muffled. "I thought something had happened to you. I was worried."

"I told you not to, Jason Luctor," she scowled without heat. "I can take care of myself."

She felt him smile. He put his arms around her —gently, as though she would break if he used too much force— and pulled her up. She blinked the stars out of her eyes to see Camp Jupiter gleaming imperiously in the foreground, all white marble temples and glittering light.

A part of her remembered the warm, soft glow of the Great Hall, the chiming laughter, the darkness that stayed hidden within but was not able to break out of their cover. She remembered the slight, quiet smiles, the quick, steady movements, faster than any eye could see.

But it wasn't hers. It was never meant to be her home, her solace. And while some part of her ached for that, she was glad to be here, her true home.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Jason asked in amusement.

Reyna turned and scanned them. The gods were gone, but that was to be expected. The Greeks were still here, and while Octavian was pulling himself up and muttering angrily, he seemed oddly resigned to their presence.

"Piper," the daughter of Aphrodite waved cheerfully, a smile on her face. Reyna thought she saw Jason eye her speculatively, or maybe it was just her imagination acting up. "Leo," Leo grinned and gave a huge thumbs up. "Clarisse," Clarisse scowled and fingered her spear. "Richard." Oddly enough, the son of Poseidon was still sitting where he'd fallen, eyes unfocused and mouth slightly open. It didn't seem to be from shock of being in Camp Jupiter. Instead, he seemed… not all there.

"Show them to the guest rooms." Jason snapped his fingers, nodding at one of the Romans that passed, who bowed. Turning back to Reyna, he smiled warmly, his arm still around her shoulders. Laying his forehead against hers, he whispered softly, his breath hot on her nose:

"Seems like we'll have a lot to catch up on."

Reyna kissed him.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>Percy closed his eyes and fell.<p>

Tartarus wrapped its arms around him in a loving embrace, in the same way an executioner's axe _lovingly embraced_ the neck of its victim, in the same way the rest of the body _lovingly embraced_ the ground to which it would once more be connected with.

_"Without taking air resistance into consideration, the force of gravity equals nine-point-eight meters per second squared. Now, can you think of any circumstance where this might change? No one? Very well. Percy, what about you?"_

He hadn't known. Not back then, not when he thought he'd known all the world had to offer, not when he had been in actuality so stupid and naïve.

_"Uh… falling into a giant pit of lava and scorpions?"_

An oddly fitting answer. Only there was no lava, no scorpions, only nightmares that haunted the living world, breathing poison into everything it touched.

The teacher had a fit, he remembered with bitter amusement, about how Greek mythology was just that—mythology. He might've laughed at the irony if his voice hadn't stopped working hours ago.

How he wished that were true.

If only it was, he might have grown up, might've had a life, kicked out Smelly Gabe and brought his mother to live with him. Maybe eventually gotten married, had kids, found a job that he liked. He might've been… happy.

… gods forbid him be happy.

Instead, he was falling into the reaches of his nightmares, back into the darkness that plagued his mind, his soul. Back into the place that was the epitome of evil, the evil the gods thought had been his very undoing.

What little warmth he'd managed to retain was rapidly sucked away, and the mind-numbing cold returned. It seeped into his skin, writhing little tendrils trying to wrap themselves around his brain. He threw his head back with a sudden gasp, and his eyes blazed red before the color dulled back to its normal green.

_"Stop fighting me... I am inevitable..."_

Perhaps he'd gone blind. Even with night vision, he could see barely the tip of his own nose. The darkness... it was borne of Tartarus' stock, the malicious kind that let no light through, the kind that swooped around him on raven wings, whispering poisonous thoughts into his mind.

The frail walls he'd built around his subconscious quaked.

"They've betrayed you," a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered, and no matter how much he struggled, it refused to be pushed away. It sounded vaguely of Kronos, and he could almost imagine the Titan winding around him in smoke form, purring dread into the ears of its listeners. "They've left you to die, once again. You're a tool to be used, and once your purpose is gone, they throw you out. Did you really think they cared? Did you think it'd be _different_?"

He let out a soundless roar of denial and pain and thrashed against his bonds. The chains rattled. They cut into his wrists.

Hellfire sparked from his hands, feeding greedily from his despair and the terror. It licked around his arms with a loving embrace, hissing around the chains, the first veins of metal beginning to—

Zeus' Master Bolt crackled to life.

His vision lit up white. The archaic runes carved around the collar burned through him, forming tangible translucent lines around him, like a shield. The hellfire retreated as though stung, though it prowled around him, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Through the pain, he managed a hysterical giggle.

Order might as well have chopped off his hands to leave him so defenceless. Or chopped off his head while he was at it.

"You… shall not have me…"

Wind rushed through in a lonely howl, thin and mocking. Was this Tartarus' way of laughing at him? At his delusion? His folly?

A single feather twirled upwards.

His wings spread.

"I'm not… defenceless any… longer..." he ground out through clenched teeth, grimacing in effort. The tips of his wings brushed against the walls, carving thin, mildew-speckled scrapes into the soft stone. He fought to hold his own, and for a breathless second, he succeeded—

A deep, throaty laugh, carried from the death-dank pits of Tartarus.

A boulder, loosened by the wind, tumbled down.

Percy looked up too late, and he couldn't do much more than flinch to the right, only narrowly avoiding being entirely brought down with it. His left wing gave a sickening crunch.

Bone snapped.

Before he could fall more than a few meters, something cold curled around his neck and ankles, and just as suddenly, he was being pulled in a different direction. Back into the darkness, through the wall. It was much farther than the girth of the Pit should've allowed; he only understood when he saw the stone panel smoothly sliding closed behind him.

It was a hidden tunnel, perhaps older than Tartarus itself, judging by the state of worn and the decorations of age.

The floors and walls were some sort of black obsidian, streaked with veins of gold and red. In other places, he could distinguish the indents of footsteps and chains, dragging across dusty floors.

And where the chains crossed, the footsteps stopped. Splatters of darkness tainted the stones.

Green eyes strained desperately to see light—there was none, only a slight shivering of the shadows around him, as though they were frightened of something far more sinister than he could ever hope to be.

Spread before him, carved in bas relief, was a depiction of one figure entombing the other within stone. Crimson jewels beset the eyes of the first figure, but there was a large scrape on the left side of his face and the jewel had been knocked out. The second had one hand flung over his head to shield his eyes from the light spreading in intricate lines around them.

Echoes of words spread through his head.

_"—I'm sorry, but you leave me no choice."_

A sharp pain burst to life inside of his head, roaring in fury. Hellfire burst from his body, coating his entire form in a warm wash of flame, flaring protectively around him, forcing back the invisible watcher.

But the collar shrieked with discharge and white lightning coursed through his nerves, tearing them apart with blunt force. His vision turned red, and he might've screamed, for when his eyesight returned, he was staring at the red ruby-like liquid that dripped from his mouth. He'd bitten his lip through.

"I knew you couldn't resist. Welcome to Hell, Erebus."

The thin, reedy clunk of metallic boots. Percy spat out the blood in his mouth, glaring defiantly into dark, greed-filled eyes.

"I've been through Hell and back, and you come nowhere close."

He bared his teeth in a gruesome smile, red still lining his teeth, transforming his expression into one of insanity. Coupled with the chains dragging him into a standing position and the unholy, splintered light in his eyes, Order took a step back warily.

"Brave words, nephew."

Percy drew up short; his brow furrowed in alarm, thin eyebrows drawing together to cast sharp shadows over his eyes.

"…what?"

"Don't play coy with me, boy!" Order suddenly snarled, his usual calm and mild demeanor dripping off with the venom slicking his voice. "You and I are both perfectly clear of your inheritance!"

Percy struggled to stand, but the chains pulled him back down, and he snarled wordlessly as the noose around his neck tightened, cutting off his breath.

"I… know… nothing…" he choked out. He caught sight of Order's expression from the corner of his eye. It was contorted with the deepest of loathing, making his tremble with barely suppressed hatred. He was beyond reasoning. Percy's knees buckled, and he sagged limply against the chains, one side going tight and biting deeply into his wrists.

Order's hand slowly unclenched, and the chains loosened, barely enough for Percy to draw in a desperate breath, which he promptly choked on and sent him on a heavy coughing fit.

"Erebus…" he said, calmer this time, but Percy now knew that the being of a madman was masked behind those demure eyes. "Eldest son of Chaos," here, he started in alarm, cold fingers clutching his heart. Had Order known all along? "Borne from the consummation of Darkness and Lust as the Primordial of Endless."

"Are you going to tell me things that I already know, or are you going to get on with your villain speech already?" Percy rasped out, glaring at him from his half kneeling, half collapsed position on the ground. The chains rattled.

Order smirked, triumphant this time, too thin and too sharp—like a knife's blade. It sent ice through his stomach.

"Patience," he scolded, mocking in tone. "Should not the heir to the throne know his virtues, at least?" Percy's eyes widened, but Order plowed on, his words beginning to slur together, the flickering light of the torch in his hand quivering under his shaking grip. "Your father… this was all his doing. This was his plan all along. Hide you away when you were young, pull you out under the pseudonym of Thanatos, yes?"

Percy was silent.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your father hid you! Trained you to kill me and take my rightful place!" Order spat out. "He wanted you to kill me!"

"You're… expecting everyone to act… like you."

The first gleams of paranoia shone deep in his eyes, through the roots of doubt that had already taken hold in his brain.

"He sent his personal assassin, Perseus of the Darkness, to train you in secret. Did you all think I would not notice? That I was as foolish as you perceived me to be? I bided my time."

Percy shook his head.

"You're insane."

He laughed sickly. There was a pale pallor to his face, and his eyes rolled around in their sockets wildly.

"Insane? Insane! Yes, we are all insane in some way or another, and you are no better."

The rest of his frenzied speech strung up to some sort of debilitating nonsense and various curses in different tongues, none of them flattering. Percy ignored him and thought carefully of the information he'd managed to siphon off of Order, comparing it to his memories.

The first Erebus had gone incognito as "Perseus" when he joined with the black ops, so Chaos would not recognize him as his son. When "Perseus" began to exist, "Erebus" disappeared—of course, since they were the same person under two different names.

It was largely assumed that "Erebus" died, and "Perseus" became worldly renowned as a dangerous assassin.

And Order thought he was that very same "Erebus" that had supposedly died. Who had gone under the persona of "Thanatos." The one who was also amassing an army under his very nose and turning his own commanders against him.

It was so very farfetched from the truth, but it made sense in a twisted form of the word.

"_You_ are Thanatos. I was wondering when he suddenly had a twin so conveniently named Erebus; turns out that they were one and the same. It was never Perseus. Perseus is dead. I should have known."

Rage suddenly overtook Order's features; abruptly, his hand came out and closed around Percy's neck, slamming him into one black pillar. The stone shook; dust rained down in a thick mist around them. Percy bared his teeth in a feral grin.

"Where are they? Where is your camp?" When no answer was forthcoming, Order grabbed his shoulders and gave him two quick shakes, slamming him back against the pillar, his forearm pressed beneath Percy's chin, forcing it up to meet soulless eyes.

"Tell me…! Chaos' army… _where is it!"_

Chaos' army… the girl. The one that died in his arms. The one that fought for Chaos...

Did Order really think he was the little ringmaster of their circus? Then he must've been more insane than he'd originally thought.

The shadows purred under his touch.

He was a Primordial. He would not _beg_. He would not _yield_. He was the darkness itself; a manifestation, and he would not be beat silent. Never again.

The Master Bolt roared to life.

Order jerked his arm back with a startled hiss, gazing uncomprehendingly at the electrical burns starting to crawl up his skin, sizzling with the smell of cooked flesh.

"Seems like you're not as Light as you'd wish to think." Snake-like teeth grinned, gleaming in the opalescent light. Too large, too bright eyes stared back, cracking at the seams. "Chaos wasn't the only poster boy for the Dark. You're about as evil as they come. Guess it runs in the family."

"Silence!" Order bellowed, cradling his arm to his chest, his face distorted with psychosis. "One last chance; tell me the location of your camp, and I'll grant you a merciful death. With or without you, I will eventually get to the root of your secrets."

"You can try," Percy said with bitter amusement. "And when you do, tell me, because even I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Last chance," Order warned again.

"My answer doesn't change."

Order was silent for a few moments more. Percy shifted under his chains; they scraped shrilly against obsidian floors.

"Then you leave me with no choice," he finally said, but he seemed almost relieved. Tartarus was not improving his sickly shade, making the veins in his face and exposed skin stand out.

_"…Errrre…"_

It took a second for Percy to realize that the screech of metallic chains wasn't from the ones rubbing against his wrists, and the steady, methodical dripping he could hear wasn't from the stalactites leaking water to the earth.

_"…buuuss…"_

A howl rose on the wind, thin and chilling, and it was reminiscent to the one he'd heard so many years ago but hadn't dared to forget. It wavered, trembling in the air, carrying ancient words that crumbled to nothing.

He turned to see cold, marble pupil-less eyes staring deep into his, less than a centimeter away. He might've yelled in shock, but the chains forbid him from moving away. He turned his head to the side, shutting his eyes, as though shutting himself out from reality would make it disappear.

This was only a dream—Chiron had told him so. The angel didn't exist. It didn't…

_"…suurely, yoou remember yoouur beest frieend…?"_

…but then how would you explain this?

"You are mistaken," Percy said as calmly as he could, eyes still averted. His voice trembled slightly, but he would not back down. Images of dismembered bodies and pools of blood slicking into the slush of New York's sidewalks plagued his mind, making him feel as though he would be sick. That same terror he'd felt so long ago welled up, threatening to choke him alive.

Cold, marble fingers, deceivingly gentle, grasped his chin, forcing his eyes up. The other ghosted across his cheek in a sickeningly intimate gesture. He shivered and jerked away, breathing harshly, and a thin smile stretched the angel's lips, like this was all very entertaining for him.

"Who are you, Lacrimosa, and what do you want with me? Why are you here, in Tartarus?"

A sardonic, freezing expression stiffened the statue, and the stony grip on his arm tightened painfully. He buried his nose on Percy's neck, breathing deeply. Fake intimacy.

_"Yooouu knoow my naaame..."_

A memory, long lost to time, wisped against the very edges of his memory. Of when he had been Erebus. Of when he had been young. Of when he had been a mercenary, struggling against the Fates every night and day to see another dawn.

There, he'd met a young boy, barely any older than he had been. With an infectious smile. With bright eyes, untainted by death's embrace, untouched by the eclipses. The one that had always been uncommonly interested in him. Almost obsessively so.

One of the Old Ones.

_"Hey, hey, this is so exciting, isn't it? C'mon, 'Res, stop being so cold! We're gonna be mercenary partners, so you might as well liven up already! Talk to me!"_

_"You're going to attract every hostile within a ten mile radius. I'd rather be able to go home tonight without being buried six feet under, so do shut up, V—"_

"—Void," Percy breathed, his eyes flicking up to stone ones. The mouth curled into a cold smile, but the eyes remained unmoved, still icy enough to freeze his blood.

_"…yesss…"_

Then Void was behind him, one hand creeping down his shoulder, the other hooked under his left arm. The palm was spread flat, resting in the place over his heart. Void had always been shorter than him, and now, his chin hooked gently against the crook of his neck, cold seeping into his skin, tainting his blood.

Percy could feel liquid slowly drip down his back, arcing along his spine. He didn't need to look to know that it came from the bloodstained marble pressed against his back, creeping through the crevices in his armor.

Chains dragged, a hollow shriek that rose above the rush of blood in his ears.

_"… thiis iss whaat yoouu haave reduuceed mee intoo…"_

Percy gritted his teeth.

"I did nothing to you that you haven't already done to yourself."

Thin, slender fingers, warmer than usual, cupped Percy's head gently in its hands, bringing it up. Void's wings were flared outwards, exposing the chains that burst from his back. The weakened link he had noticed that time in Central Park was hanging by a gossamer thread.

_"… yoouu know… the mortaals neever understood whaat I diid…"_

"And that is?"

Shivers of cold ran down his body.

_"…wiith every saacrifice, I grew stronger. Aand now, I onnly need onee moore…"_

Void's eyes slid shut. His hands gripped Percy tighter, and no matter how much he struggled, he was unable to get free. The hope sparking in his chest guttered and died, and fear —oh, an emotion he hadn't tasted in so long— took its place.

_"…a fitting end, 'Res, my darling… I shall remember you."_

Void's mouth closed over his, greedily, possessively. Stone arms caressed his neck, pulling them together.

It wasn't a kiss.

Pain seared through his body, starting at the small of his back and flaring outwards in short, jagged spurs. He felt as though his heart was being ripped from his chest, or something vitally important was being slowly sucked away, torn away. Something searing and hot was rapidly being forced up his throat, and he struggled to keep it down, but it slipped from his mouth and into Void's.

It was as though a switch had been flipped. His vision faded to black and white, and all of the emotions that had been boiling in his chest—gone. As if they'd never existed. Maybe they didn't. He could no longer remember.

The lights in his eyes flickered and died. He collapsed bonelessly where he stood, the only thing holding up being Void's arms, which were now warm to the touch. The final link of the chain binding him to his prison warped away, and with a screech like gunshot, snapped.

Power exploded outwards.

Raw power. It was in nothing Percy could describe. It seared, it blistered, it killed. There was no fancy movements to its machinations. It was pure, and simple, and destructive.

_"I may have forgotten to mention…for me to leave, one other must take my place…"_

Through half-lidded eyes, he could see that the chains —all of them—had burst into flame and were now nothing more than ash, floating away in the gale force winds ripping shreds out of the walls. Void's stone wing had begun to spark, like the way a newspaper sparked slowly and burned faster and faster when given to flame. His now warm hand pressed Percy's face into his chest, shielding him from the winds threatening to toss him away like a rag doll.

Not that he cared. He was already dead anyways.

It was like his will to live had been torn asunder, his very reason for existence… who was he anymore? He was no one. He had no being. He longed to sink back into the twilight of mind that he'd so long been denied… it was better there, where nothing existed but the darkness.

Dimly, before the black waters could close over his head, he could feel Void lay him down by the stone pillar.

"I truly am sorry for this, _darling_."

The endearment was a scalding note.

His voice was a deep, dark purr that could allure any being to his stead, be it living or dead. He had no doubt that the dead was wake at his call. It was night and day from the hoarse stone-like rasp that it had been from before.

Stone dust rained up from above. The earth roared an angry note, hellfire sputtering from between the cracks, tongues of jet black flame lashing out. The temple that had stood to time was beginning to collapse, the first chunks of obsidian ceiling raining down in grapefruit-sized chunks.

Void pressed his lips to Percy's temple, and he would've shuddered if he could, but all that came out was a defiant spark in his eyes that was quickly smothered and drowned.

Chains flew around him, binding his wings together, his arms, his legs, whirling from the remnant ashes of Void's prison to entomb him. They pulled tight, whipping around the pillar, hardening until they were nigh unbreakable. Pulsing with a wraith-like throb, it leached Percy's energy away to fuel itself, slowly draining him to nothing but an empty husk.

The waters were pulling him under, and he sucked in a deep breath of oxygen before he was pulled under, back into tumultuous waves, shoving him over and over until it was impossible to discern up from down.

The last thing he heard was Void stepping elegantly from his eternal prison, bringing a speechless Order with him, looking back over his shoulder one last time before the crumbling ceiling formed a wall between them. His brown hair turned a coal black, features shifting to one that was eerily familiar.

Crimson-emerald eyes winked back at him.

"Don't worry, 'Res," he said softly. "Know that there's a new, better world coming… you just won't be a part of it."

The sea closed over his mouth and eyes, and there was nothing but darkness below.

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><p><em>Hope survives best at the hearth, but it's the Void that tears it away.<em>


	18. Sowilo (Victory)

**Author's Note**—this is the second birthday of "Blackened Dawn," and the first since the re-write has come out. This story was my first attempt at writing and trying to figure out my personal style, so it holds a place very close to my heart.

To all of you who have supported this story through thick and thin, thank you. It truly does mean a lot to me. I've never thought of myself as a writer before this, but it's an incredible feeling to know that other people like the ramblings you've nurtured and fed since the beginning.

Today, I would also like to congratulate all of the readers and writers of the PJO fandom. When I was first introduced to this site, there were only 10k stories in the archive. Now, it has more than quadrupled. I think that deserves some well-earned applause.

**Story Notes —** I've been asked about the possibility of a sequel. Currently, the answer is no. I plan on covering everything in one story. However, if everyone wants me to write one, and the ideas are cooperating, it's very possible.

In the meantime, if someone else wishes to take a stab at writing a spin-off sequel, they are most welcome to.

This story, in its entirety, is about half-way done.

The last part in this chapter is from Percy's point of view. His mind is distorted—fragmented, so do not expect him to be very coherent. Treat it more as a preview of what is to come. In case you are confused over _who_ Nico really meets, go back and read the last few lines of the last chapter.

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><p><strong>Review Replies— <em>WickedMidnights<em> -** I'll say that one of your assumptions is correct, and one of them is not. I'll leave you to decide which one is which (; As well, I would rather not, because it makes me shudder whenever I read my past self's writing. I truly do not know what I was thinking. _**wisdomsdaughteriscrazy**_ - Cruelty is my specialty! _**SpartanWarrior117**_ - hey! I'm glad you liked it. They'll solve this "giant mummy of reality" as you've put it so eloquently. Some people just need to get their heads out of their asses first :) _**JosephineSilver**_ - I'm incredibly sorry. iOS 7 wiped my data, so replying to PMs has gotten pushed to the back of my mind. It's wonderful that you got into the SEALs program, so never hear out anyone who tries to put you down for being smart! I wish they had something like that over here. Say hi to Tay and everyone for me, and tell her that I'm sorry, and that she can hate me if she wants. She's probably going to hate me a lot more by the time this story is done! _**MortalFantasy0002**_ - you flatter me. If I was half as good as you make me out to be… alas. I can only try. But thank you. I might write an actual novel one day, but I plan on finishing my stories first, so that I won't leave you all hanging. _**Lamon**_ - thank you! I'm glad you like it, and I hope this chapter is alright as well :) _**Guest (Saphira_bellacqua)** _- you have most of it correct. It's all rebirth. There are no two Percy's running around on different dimensions, as funny as that would be. Erebus turned Void into an angel statue because of his betrayal (will be explained) and no, Order is not working with Gaea—not yet, and not willingly, at least. _**Username1576**_ - thank you! And yes, Order can be a bit stubborn with his beliefs at times. _**foreverawildandbeautifulmess**_ - well, I can remember replying to your reviews since the re-write came out, and maybe before. And it struck me that I've never thanked you for that :) P.S. I don't like Jeyna either, don't worry! _**Tally Jennifer Youngblood -**_ send me a question, and I'll reply to the best of my ability. I don't mind. _**Guest**_ - even though it's not Christmas, I think your wish just might come true ;) Read on, and see for yourself! _**Guest**_ - thank you; I'm very happy that you like it. "Lacrimosa" means "weeping" in Latin, and I thought that it would be a fitting pseudo-name. Nyx was "killed" because she was beginning to know too much. Ah… my writing isn't very dynamic. I do wish it was, though. Thank you. And I don't mind when people ask for updates. It lets me know that people actually enjoy my work, and it makes me very happy inside :) _**RxR4ever**_ - not at all. I think your English is very good. Yes, River Song is pretty awesome. I'm still catching up to DW episodes, though; my friend is lending me her discs. Void isn't infallible. Percy will be able to defeat him eventually. The real antagonist of the story… I can't quite say yet, other than the fact that it's not Order. Order is the antihero, as ironic as it sounds. I do know how to join Percy and Reyna, as improbable as it sounds at the moment, so don't worry! I'd also say that you can type everything out in Spanish, but my Spanish is absolutely horrible and I'm sure I'd conjugate everything wrong._** Leftover Meal** _- I hope the PM answered your questions :) If not, feel free to leave a message! _**prince of the seas** _- thank you :) _**Clefspear**_ - thanks! _**Ahra**_ - not your cup of tea, I get it. But such is life. When you're down, it decides to shit on you some more. _**thelegendarysupernerd** _- ah… I suppose I should change my summary then, shouldn't I? I'll get around to it eventually. Thank you. As for the portrayal of Chaos and the Primordials, that's why they have their soul-shard crystals. It acts as a kind of repressor. It wouldn't be much of a story if the Primordials incinerated everything in their path just by their presence, would it? _**aesir21**_ - thank you! I'm glad you liked it. _**Starstryker97**_ - most likely not. It's definitely possible, but I plan on covering everything in one story. _**PCheshire**_ - I tried to read Twilight, I really did. But I went brain dead after the first few chapters, so alas, I did not finish, and I don't ever plan on it. But seriously, who makes vampires sparkle? That defeats the whole purpose of having vampires… _**A.H.F.** _- Richard's age was only mentioned at vaguely, but he is actually one year younger than Annabeth. It would be awfully inept to have a twelve-year-old dating someone far older. I'm fairly certain that Annabeth and Percy are the same age, in canon. Thank you for your opinions :) _**Guest**_ - did I make a mistake? I'll go back and check it sometime. Thanks. **_Guest_ -** not quite. You have the "rebirth" part correct, but it's not as Hemera. Hemera was just a touch-and-go kind of character, without too much importance. _**ScarredHope**_ - your review actually came in when I was about to send off the chapter. It was a welcome surprise. But ah, see, Percy's not dead. It's not like Dean in Supernatural, which my friend has assured me that he's died about seventeen different ways already.

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><p><em>-X-<em>

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><p>White.<p>

A sterile color.

A whirling, spinning mass of _nothing-yet-everything_ that left streaks of blues and reds bolting across the backs of his eyelids. If he squinted and turned his head to one side, like an owl's, he could almost see how they made up little shapes and lines, that in turn made little pictures, which in _turn_ created a grand masterpiece.

_(one of delusions)_

Aether rubbed his eyes with his knuckles mercilessly, until the white gave away to the scenery of the Great Hall at dinnertime. The world had become nothing more than a mass of panic and chaos, and it was growing steadily worse, along with Aether's headache.

He had woken two days ago, but he felt as though someone had jumbled up the pieces and he couldn't quite put them together.

So maybe it was that sense of _wrongness_ that made him look over his shoulder, before taking the long way back to his chambers—the ones newly assigned to him, because his old one was still covered in blood and ashes and broken furniture, and also because quite frankly, Aether never wanted to go into it again.

Or maybe it was the fact that everyone was telling him that both Nyx and Erebus had been… killed. Which was preposterous. They couldn't die. It _was not possible… _

No one believed him.

He told them that this joke was no longer funny. Yelled it. Screamed. Beat it in with his fists.

So they took him to see Nyx in the long term ward and Erebus in the morgue. He couldn't decide which was worse. Nyx didn't even recognize him; she was babbling in a foreign tongue, eyes glazed over, looking as though a piece of her had been sucked right out. Erebus…

He viciously stabbed his fork into a piece of mush.

The clattering of metal cutlery against plates and the brash voices of the soldiers calling out to each other did little to soothe his nerves. Growling under his breath, he considered the things he could do to the soldier beside him to make him stop bashing his goblet against the table.

There was a low chuckle, and Aether paused in his ministrations long enough to see someone —_who should be dead—_ sitting across from him, one arm lazily propped against the Great Hall's table.

"Erebus… !?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. Nothing changed. Erebus remained very much _not-dead._

"I'm going insane, aren't I? I should go join Nyx in the psycho ward now… "

Erebus smirked back.

None of the pallor that had been on the body in the morgue reflected on his tired face. For a bemused moment, Aether considered his slipping sanity, even more so than usual. He must be losing it completely if he was talking to people who should be dead.

Erebus' armor was completely gone, and he was dressed in a simple tunic. His Sentinel mask was hanging by his belt—he must be off duty, then. Oddly enough, the material seemed to be made of stone instead of the usual porcelain, and there were no eye holes for him to look through. Instead, they were glazed over, like those of a statue.

A single tear blurred the bottom edges of the left one, and if he looked closely enough, it seemed to trail slowly down a stone cheek.

Aether hissed in a breath of surprise.

His eyes were _green._ Like the turbulent sea. Like finely cut emeralds that threw distortions of light whenever the sun caught its edges. Like the glass that was so bright and vibrant and so full of life, concealing the cold and hard steel beneath.

"You are distracted," Erebus noticed. His other arm was relaxed against his chest, playing with the stem of a wine glass. He reclined in his chair, eyes closed.

It was normal once more.

"You're supposed to be dead. They told me so, when I woke up. You and Nyx… "

"I ducked," Erebus replied with no small amount of amusement. "I'm fine now. There's no more pain. I'm not sure where you heard such rumors about my death from. It was largely exaggerated."

"Exaggerated, indeed," a figure with long brown hair and slitted yellow eyes, like a snake's, snorted in incredulation. "You were dead for nineteen minutes. They said you had been shocked to death. I still don't know how you survived."

"Peace, Ophion," Erebus said shortly, averting his gaze from Aether's horrified eyes. "Aether, I'm alright. You should be more worried for yourself. You've been unconscious for close to a month, now. But it's good that you've woken… unlike Nyx."

His lips thinned, and the wood cracked underneath his fingertips. He kept his eyes fixed intently on his hands.

"They thought I was responsible for your comatose state. I know," he cut off sharply, when Aether began to protest, "but they were frightened and couldn't make proper judgements. They locked me in prison, and there was some talk of throwing me into the Vault of Ashes. If you hadn't woken up when you did, then they would have followed through."

"But… Nyx… ?"

"They haven't told you?" he asked sharply, as though this was some sort of criminal offense altogether. Aether shook his head.

"No. They gave me a sad look and said that I needed to hear it from a proper source—"

"Nyx was attacked by the Olympians." His voice was short and clipped. It was like he was reciting something that had been force-fed to him. "Stabbed, then her throat was cut. Order was impaled through the shoulder. Whoever it was… they missed." He shifted the collar of his tunic, and then Aether could make out a glitter of metal around his neck, before it was hidden once more. "When I was… incapacitated … they came to me. The gods. They wanted me to join them. I refused. One got angry. This… this is the Master Bolt. I cannot take it off, for they have the key."

Erebus' hands clenched. A roar of outrage rose inside Aether's ears.

"That's… that's… they cannot do that! The Bolt is light-orientated, and you are Dark. It would cause… "

"Pain," he interrupted again, his shoulders set in a rigid posture. "Yes, I know."

The unspoken '_of course I know'_ hung between them for a few long seconds.

"I… " Aether trailed off, then cleared his throat awkwardly. He kneaded his eyes with the back of his hand, as though that was the reason he'd had some sort of delusion. "I must have had too much to drink… "

"Then a little more won't do you any harm," Erebus clipped in, eloquent as ever, his lips twisting into a small smile.

That alone should have sent alarm bells ringing through Aether's head. Erebus never approved of anything that would make him lose control of his mind. He always kept an iron grip on it, as though in fear that it would slip away if he wasn't careful.

And if that _didn't_ clue in the currently clueless Aether, than the fact that he hadn't even _seen_ Erebus move before the goblet in front of him was full certainly should have.

The last drops of dark amber liquid diffused into the cup, simmering.

Erebus picked it up and offered it to Aether, who took it numbly. When he looked down towards his clasped hands, his murky visage reflected uncertainly back at him, still rippling in concentric rings around the center.

The elaborate silver of the goblet was cold to the touch, and condensation was beading over the lip, leaving dark smears wherever his fingers touched. It was filled to the brim with a rich, dark red liquid, one that faintly smelled of roses and chamomile.

"Go on," Erebus teased, verdant irises glimmering playfully at him from over the rim of his goblet, the same color as Aether's wine. Shadowlight played on his face, rippling with a faint, luminescent light that undulated with each flicker of movement.

It was only at that moment that Aether noticed the dark circles under Erebus' eyes, almost like a raccoon's. But the moment was broken when the Primordial smirked challengingly back at him, raising his own goblet in a mocking toast.

Not one to be cowed, Aether raised his own and drained the contents in one swallow.

Immediately, his eyes watered, and he doubled over, wheezing, trying to breathe over the mixture of tastes in his mouth. Funnily enough, the closest comparison he could come up with was bitter almonds.

"That's not wine," he gasped out, quickly flagging over a server and downing a glass of water almost desperately. It barely diluted the sharp, acerbic taste in his mouth.

"No?" Erebus murmured, taking another leisured sip.

_"Yes."_ Aether wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, still blinking harshly. "It's so sweet, but so bitter at the same time. I can't help but think that you've done something to it."

Fingers on the stem of the delicate crystal goblet clenched. A fiery mix of blazing scarlet and emerald stared coldly back in the dim candlelight, as though wishing everything before him would become a frozen wasteland.

Aether faltered. His vision was still watering, but he didn't need perfect sight to feel the anger emanating from the other Primordial. It left a dry taste in his mouth, burning his skin by contact. With a resounding bang, Erebus set his goblet down, smooth red liquid almost sloshing over the rim. Ruby-like drops caught the light, before fading to dull red stains in the white tablecloth.

A snarl of wind. The meaty sound of metal slamming through wood.

A hunting knife lay embedded in the table, a hair's width away from impaling one of Aether's hands. The butt end quivered with unexpended force. The edges were blunted, but Aether knew that it was not from the throw. The tip of the knife was bent backwards, almost parallel to the rest, knocking off the balance.

Upon the impact point, jagged fissures had opened, and now half of the blade sunk into the thick, age-old dining table, wooden splinters raining down to the ground.

_περσευσ_ was engraved on the hilt. The letters were difficult to read. Some were scratched off. Others looked like they had been burned until they were indecipherable, mere scratches in a background of charred metal.

_(he had been blunted from the start)_

Aether's eyes shivered back indecisively from the blade. Then, as he watched, the figures began to change. The black shadows formed shapes, elongating and smoothing out.

A vague, blurry image of a bull-like creature chasing a tiny figure up the massive hill, the branches of a black pine tree waving in the heavy, dark backdrop. The blue of his eyes twisted into the blue of a beat-up hood of a blackened old car, which looked as though it had skidded for several hundred meters before coming to a stop.

Dying firefly-sparks.

Erebus' voice was a low whisper, but there was something alluring about the softly hissed tones that stole the protests rising on the tip of his tongue.

_"Upon first glance, you're drawn closer. And it's then that the parasite latches on to you, never to let go until your brain has rotted and you're the perfect little marionette."_

Twelve thrones, gleaming with ethereal, harsh light. Two figures sitting in the center. The crackle of thunder and lightning. A shivering boy. Such innocence was in his eyes. Such awe.

_"But it soon turns sour in your mouth. You're forced to let go of everything you had taken as granted, and you finally see the true bitterness underneath, hidden behind a thin veneer of seductive sweetness and unfulfilled promises."_

Silver arrows. Wolves. Angered, pain-filled screams. The Sky. A Titan. Then, Death comes to them, and takes the spirit of a black-haired girl.

A maze. A prison. A tower. Explosions. A volcano explodes—or, at least, that was what the dark blob on the edge of the knife looked like to Aether. An island. Silver flowers, carrying a perfume so strong that Aether almost felt that he could feel the scent being carried on the wind, stroking his hair away from his face with a gentle touch.

Then, the images flew by faster and faster on the blunted knife until it flickered and turned dark. It was only then that he realized that he had it held clutched close in his hands, as though it was the most precious thing in the world.

_(he_ needed_ to know more)_

Then, from the black, there became distortions of white. Mere pinpricks of light in a sea of darkness.

Dreams. Death came to every one of them and breathed her blessing onto the nightmares. Then, a ship. A sacrifice. An angered, horrified scream rang shrilly in Aether's ears, mangled by the sheer despair and helplessness. The voice was oddly familiar.

A surgical table. Rivulets of crimson, flowing down stainless steel tables, gleaming thick and dark in the light. A pale, long-fingered hand, caressing his face gently, almost lovingly. A gleaming scythe, silvery white.

_"Not yet,"_ she said.

The prison exploded.

Fire.

Hatred.

A pine tree, a poisoned knife.

There was a short, decaying pause.

A yawning pit. Terror, confusion. Gleams of gold—the flash of scythes, the edges stained. The slow, monotonous clicking of the clock, accompanied by the stomp of thousands of tiny little soldiers' feet, marching to a time only they could hear.

Hope quickly withered into resignation.

A terrified father came too late.

Only then did Aether recognize the green eyes. A sickening, slow curl of cold fear trickled down his spine. He'd always thought they were familiar. Too familiar to have been imagined…

His throat was suddenly dry. He'd swallowed burning sand, and it was turning his insides into crumbling ashes.

"Erebus… ?" he croaked.

The immortal did not respond for a long time, for so long that Aether was startled when he finally spoke. His words were lighthearted in tone, but there was something tenebrous about the underlying accent that made it thick and heavy to swallow.

When Erebus raised his hand to set it on Aether's shoulder, it was transparent. If he looked _through_ Erebus' chest, he could see the full moon gleaming from the window, bathing the world in a hard, flat color.

"War is coming, and you'll have to do without me. I'm sorry, Aether, but you know the truth. Don't delude yourself any longer."

When Aether blinked, he was alone. His shoulder still tingled with phantom sensations.

There was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He turned his head a fraction of an inch to the side to see someone staring at him oddly, almost in worry. Golden eyes, molten in the fire's light.

_(the color of the scythe)_

Chronus, Primordial of Time. A potato was still suspended half-way to his mouth, hovering indecisively in the air. There was something about his appearance that made Aether's insides twist and made him feel as though he was going to be sick.

After a few seconds, the distorted, muted sounds cleared enough for him to realize that Chronus was talking to him.

"—alright? Aether? Are you with me? It looked like you were talking to yourself. To… Erebus." Then, his eyes softened in realization. "Look, I know that you're taking his loss hard, but you need to move on."

Aether's eyes widened in confusion and a little bit of anger. "I am not! He's sitting right…"

He trailed off when he followed his outstretched finger to see nothing but an empty seat, pulled out from the table, a napkin folded neatly on the top. A smudge of red dust darkened the top corner.

A worn dagger glimmered sadly in front of him, ruby-like wine slipping off the blunted edges like tears of blood.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter II<br>Sowilo  
><strong>ɀ

_Rune for victory, success, revelation._

"You're late." The boy took a sip of amber liquid, tipping his head back to swallow. The delicate, bone-like cup clinked against the saucer, which he vanished with a snap of his fingers. He regarded Aether, almost in amusement. "I expected you months ago."

The unspoken implications rang, clear and loud, through the empty space between them.

He was a young boy with dark hair and soulless eyes. A skull ring glinted on his finger through crossed arms, and a long black sword was strapped to his back, one made of ice. A dark plated helmet was tucked under one arm. The corners of his mouth were pulled down, annoyance clearly outlined on his face.

"I have been waiting."

"Am I dead?" Aether asked bluntly. The boy seemed amused at his question, for one side of his mouth curled into a sardonic smile.

"No. Not yet."

"Then send me back. I was in the middle of a fight; I need to… !"

The boy crossed to the other side of the infinite darkness, not even pretending to listen to Aether. Though his back faced him, Aether could tell by his loose stance that he'd been trained at a young age for war. To hunt. To kill.

"You _truly_ do not remember," the boy mused to himself. He turned to look over his left shoulder, distorting the shadows playing over his face. Black struck blue; Aether had the startling revelation that they were only a shade apart from being the same color. "That's… disconcerting. It's like the Lethe all over again."

Aether was becoming increasingly frustrated. He'd never had the best of tempers, and it was showing despite his best efforts to keep it contained. A curl of confusion wrapped itself around his heart, along with the discontentment of unsettling thoughts.

"Are you going to tell me what is going on, or are you going to keep spouting off riddles?" he snarled, reached instinctively for his sword.

It was missing.

For the first time, he felt unease growing in his mouth like a bitter taste.

A spark of power sparked up in the boy, a razor-sharp warning, the first show of aggression writ in his usually calm face. He turned and stared at Aether for so long that he began to grow uncomfortable.

"Hello, Aether. I'm Nico," he said simply. His hands were folded casually into his pockets, but he had no doubt this little stick of a boy was stronger than he looked. The light in his eyes was ambiguous but fragmented.

Nico. The name was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was like the faint whisper of a long forgotten dream…

"How does this concern me?"

Nico didn't answer, but waved his hand towards Aether, beckoning him closer. He knelt on the ground, his armor rattling as he moved. His left hand was raised to balance himself, but his right seemed to be grasping something Aether couldn't see. Mystified, he got to his knees beside the enigmatic boy and peered closer.

"Is something amiss?"

"You could say that," Nico agreed. "For you, at least."

His reached down and his hand sunk into the floor, his entire body shifting to accommodate his sudden sway in stability. The muscles in his arm tightened; he had taken a hold of something, and judging by the intense concentration on his face, it was fighting against him.

When his hand finally emerged from the darkness, Aether could see the faintest shimmers of a silken web —like a spider's— coalescing and slipping out of his cupped palms in a silvery pool.

"Do you know what this is?" Nico asked, though by his expression, he didn't expect him to. Aether grumbled a negative answer. "Fine. Do you remember Ananke? I believe that was her name. The Primordial of Compulsion."

Aether frowned. "Vaguely. She was an ally of Order's. She died many millennia ago, but I'm not aware of the details."

Nico made a sound of disagreement.

"_No_, you knew her very well. You looked up to her when you were a child. She took care of you. Your Percy worked with her on many occasions."

Aether scowled back. He did not miss how he said "your Percy," as if there were more than one.

"That's _impossible_. I would have remembered if she did. We barely said one word to each other, and she never looks into my eyes when we do."

"Because she felt guilty of what she had always done," Nico quipped. "And she _has_ done her work well. Too well, in fact. It's taken me an unbelievable amount of time to unravel even some of her threads, and I've been here for months, trapped inside my own mind." Seeing the stubborn expression on Aether's face, he sighed and muttered, "No wonder Percy couldn't stand me. I can't even stand myself."

"Then what about that dream?"

"The one where Erebus was dead and Nyx was insane? Oh, it's very much real, but not as blatant. You'll wake soon. That, I am sure of, and you will see for yourself. Just because it was a nightmare does not mean that it isn't true."

"You're mad," Aether decided, beginning to back away from the boy, feeling around with his hands and feet for an exit. He didn't want to be here any longer, and he knew he should wake up. He could hear panicked voices and explosions ringing outside of the lethargic blackness, oscillating beeps cutting deep into his mind. "Truly and wholly mad. You and I… we're not the same. We don't even look alike."

Someone was shaking his shoulders. He felt the sensations; it was as though he was connected to his mortal body by a thin thread, which was rapidly fraying at the ends. There was desperate screaming.

Nyx?

it was gone before he could be sure.

Nico didn't take offense. "All of us are insane in one way or another," he quoted softly. "All beings have _chaos_ and _order_ aspects. Kinda like that yin-yang thing-y some people believe in. I represent the chaos part of yourself, so my form is the exact opposite of yours, the part that had been missing for a… a very long time, because we were ripped apart and I escaped. That's how Order was able to influence you so much."

"So.. you're like Erebus?"

"To a lesser degree, yes… " Nico's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "There's something very familiar about him, but I can't see very well out of your eyes, and his image is distorted—"

"You've been spying from_ inside my head?"_ Aether said in disbelief, his expression warring between utmost anger and incredulation. "I swear—"

"Don't be _absurd_," Nico snapped back. "I'll lock _you_ in this dank pit of nothingness for six months and see how _you_ like it. You're getting off topic. Your mind is empty, don't you see? It's _too_ empty."

_"Are you calling me_ _daft_?"

Nico ignored him.

"I know you are naturally air-headed, but even for you, it's too empty. Someone's gone into your head and turned a few screws loose. The silver you just saw—it's a physical manifestation of _something_ blanketing specific memories. Ones Order don't want you to remember."

Aether's anger gave way to curiosity, and he reluctantly sat back down, still eyeing the calm Nico warily.

"No one's touched my mind, I assure you."

Nico raised his eyebrows. "I can see you're adamant about this. Then tell me: what did Order summon you for after the Battle of Souls? What did he tell you and Nyx to do? Who was there? What can you remember?"

Aether opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again.

… nothing.

He _knew_ those events existed, that they _should_ have happened, but he felt no connection with them. It was almost as if he were only a bystander and there was an actor in his place, dancing to the time like a well-manipulated marionette.

Nico watched conflicting emotions wrestle for dominance on Aether's face, and said in a quiet voice, "You need to tear it apart. Rip out of his influence. You're the only one who can, and if you don't, you'll forever be trapped beneath Order's thumb. You'll never be truly free."

The silvery web stretched like elastic under Nico's vice grip, crumpling where his fist was clenched around the silky material. It wanted to sink back into the darkness. Aether could see the stretch marks where Nico had been consistently harrying away at it, as well as tiny gaps and holes. He reached out tentatively, but before he touched the opalescent strands, he stopped.

"How can I trust you? How do I know that you're not manipulating me?"

Nico shrugged his shoulders. "You don't," he said bluntly. "We're all being played for someone else's goals. It's just how life works. You just have to find the one that manipulates you the least. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm a part of you, and harming you would be harming me."

Aether looked down at his hands, which were tracing small circles and patterns into the cloth-like shimmer. Each swirl of his fingers left a small trickle of white that arched gracefully in the foreground. His lips twitched, and in that moment, he threw caution to the winds. His hands closed around the cloth and he _ripped_.

"A last thing you should know—your soul, it's been pretty much destroyed. What νερό did to you, I can't fix. It's as though he used you as some sort of living power source. You should have listened when Erebus told you to run. So, I think it's time I intervened. This is the only way we'll both survive. I'm sorry."

Aether's eyes widened.

It was too late to stop.

The cloth tore apart in his hands with a brittle shriek. There was an uncharacteristic roar, like the screech of a tsunami before it swirled everything into its tumbling embrace, to be forever lost.

"Wait! What do you mean?"

Nico vanished in a hiss of darkness, leaving Aether to face the abyss alone. The memories engulfed him, dragging him down into the pits of darkness, and he knew no more.

_"We shall be one."_

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Aether sat up with a start. The black rippled. He muttered a foul curse under his breath—it was nothing complimentary towards the one calling himself Nico.<p>

A room. The image sizzled, heat waves distorting the ceiling-to-floor windows, revealing the green crests of mountains and the sparkling blue of the rivers, snaking over Ordis. The sun was going down, transforming the world into echelons of reds and golds and yellows.

Heavy purple tablecloths creased at the edges of the long tables. Figures were sitting at the high-backed chairs, fingers steepled imperiously in front of plotting expressions.

A high-pitched squeal. Shouts of alarm.

Then, fire.

The windows shattered.

Destruction.

The room in front of Aether flickered, as though there was a bad connection between them. Static stippled up the sides before it finally smoothed out, rigid strands softening into color.

The floor was stacked in sharply ridged slabs; broken pieces of dark chocolate.

Stuck between them, like the driftwood stranded after the riptide has receded, the bodies of the Councilmembers drooped limply within. They no longer looked like the manipulating old war hawks they had been—in death, there was something equal and terrifying at the same time.

Aether picked himself and walked forward, stumbling slightly when his foot caught on a ridge of stone. Upon closer inspection, it was a javelin, and it was embedded in one of the chairs, through the center. The wood was splintered and cracked almost completely into two, revealing the tan brown of its innards, contrasting sharply with the deep black of the varnish.

"—sure you would like to perform this ritual? Do not feel obligated to. You would have to sacrifice a part of your soul to call Perseus out of Death."

Imperious. Calm. Shaken.

Order.

Aether turned towards him in relief.

"Order, where are we? What is going on?"

There was no response. Order didn't even flinch, not even when Aether walked up to him, waving a hand over his eyes. At one point, he grew so frustrated that he let out a shout and thrust his arm through Order's chest.

Their eyes looked right through him.

He wasn't here. For them, Aether did not exist.

And this… he recognized this place. It was the council room, but the seats were all empty, some with long, cylindrical holes jammed through the center. Broken glass ground into the tiled floors with each step.

The windows had been broken. Weapons had been launched in. And, judging by the smears and spatters smeared over the floor and ceiling, many had hit.

The long tables —Aether could see the knife-marks and bored scratchings that littered the area he'd customarily sat at— were barricaded over the doors and windows. A single curtain, ripped to nothing more than triangular threads, trembled in the wind.

In the very center… runes were drawn in blood, shuddering as though they were parallel to a different dimension.

Aether had never been inclined to learn all of the symbols' names. To him, it just looked like a bunch of scribbles. He was the one with the brute force. Nyx was the strategist. Perseus was the assassin, and the runes master.

But even he could taste the power that rolled off of them. The uncontrollable smell of fire, so real and so tangible that he could almost see and feel the heat feeding greedily off of his skin, and the smell of burning flesh…

"Is it ready?"

Four figures stood by the shadows.

Fierce, worn expression—it was Nyx. Beside her, several paces away, Order stood. One of his sleeves was ripped off and a claw mark of blood in the shape of a human's hands smeared his shoulder.

To his right, there was a young immortal, her face reserved, beautiful in an conservative way. She looked vaguely worried and guilty at the same time, and was turning something in her hands, over and over.

Upon first glance, it looked like a broken piece of stone. Black in color. Thin veins of white light rose in its surface, before receding.

A Primordial's.

A sinking feeling lodged in his gut.

Quickly, he shifted his gaze away before he could be sick. He couldn't help but see how the shadows fell flat, as though there was no substance underneath. Like they were dead.

Red caught his vision. A bedraggled, war-torn cape.

Aether recognized his younger self. Barely past the age of maturity, still young in face and fresh in soul, even though it was slightly darkened by the war it had seen in the past few months. Grief hung about him in a thick cloud, and if anyone saw his red-rimmed eyes, they turned the other way.

Order's eyes were neutral, and beside him, Ananke —the veritable goddess in a simple white shift, her skin milky white and lips a blooming red— shifted from one foot to the other in a restless motion.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, running the crystal between her fingers. Order caught her hand when she began to run her knuckles along her lips, eyes fixed on a point in the distance, guilt and worry glimmering in them. Her cheeks took on a noticeably pink hue.

Past-Aether's voice broke them out of their moment. He was tense, a stark contrast to his typical easygoing nature. He knew that Ananke always held a soft spot in her heart for Order (a massive crush), but he was impatient and couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

Future-Aether was in distress. His hands were at his temples, as if that would make him remember something that he had no inkling had ever happened.

This hadn't happened. It couldn't have.

_(why couldn't he remember)_

"It doesn't matter. I need to speak with him again, and if that's the price, then so be it."

Rash. Desperate. The exact behaviour that Percy would never have approved of. Even after millennia, Future-Aether could hear his reproachful voice in his head, which never failed to make him feel like a wrongdoing child. And, judging by the stricken expression on Past-Aether's face, he did as well.

Order stared at nothing for a long time. His gaze was unfocused, indecision marring the smooth angles of his face.

Finally, he closed his eyes and nodded, beckoning them forward into the circle with one hand. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line.

Past-Aether took Nyx's and Order's hand, and Nyx in turn held Ananke's. A circle symbolized many things in such archaic symbols. Continuity after death. Rebirth. All concepts they would need to attempt to do the unforgivable.

"This is your last chance to turn back," Order warned, but when no one backed away, his expression turned resigned and he began a well-practiced incantation. After a hesitant pause, Ananke's voice joined his, alluring and sweet where Order's was raw and powerful. They weaved and threaded through each other in an unearthly melody, harmonizing words building intensity until Aether could hardly breathe.

Ananke crushed Percy's soul crystal between her hands. Shards, gritty bits, dug into her palms and drew blood. Thin rivulets of black mist hissed from the gaps of her fingers, seeping down in thick tendrils and pooling on the ground in a clump of living, sentient shadow.

The epitome of darkness. Of evil.

Aether almost thought he saw a face beginning to form from darkness, an outstretched hand with clawed talons…

"Release it, Ananke!" Order shouted, sweat beading up on his forehead from the effort of keeping the runes stable.

With a slight wince of pain, she extended her arm, fingers opening to let the remains scatter to the wind, resting lightly inside the runic circle. She was trembling, her face drawn and pale, as though she had just seen her life pass through her eyes.

A high pitched keening screeched in Aether's ears. He doubled over.

Then came the pain. It pressed in, quick and tight; he could see Nyx suck in a sharp breath and her grip on his hand tightened.

It was in nothing Future-Aether could describe. He felt the pain, the pain that he had forgotten. It was too real, too _raw_ to be faked. It reminded him of that time he'd saw a man pulled apart by two horses thrashing in opposite directions. With a strangled cry, he fell to his knees, his vision a haze of red.

It was a mercy when darkness finally wrapped its arms around him and pulled him under.

The vision shifted. Future-Aether saw no more, but unbeknownst to him, the vision continued, taking a different, more sinister turn.

White smoke pervaded the air, a thick, musty scent clinging to them. Orb-like pinpricks of light opened—eyes. While they were humanoid in shape, their feet were invisible, having melded seamlessly into their bodies, which were still crumpled on the ground.

"Aether, Nyx," Order said conversationally, as if they were simply discussing the weather, as if he hadn't just tried to rip their souls from their bodies.

"_Order_," Nyx hissed, electric blue eyes boring into Order's. Confusion quickly faded into betrayal. _"I should have known. You wish for supreme power. You wish to kill us."_

"Kill you?" Order repeated slowly, as though tasting the words with a thoughtful air. Then, he shook his head. "Of course not. Why throw away a tool that can be used?"

_"Then you wish to control us like puppets," _Aether snarled. His ghostly hands only went through Order's form, harmlessly passing to the other side. _"Percy was right, all along, wasn't he?"_

Order's hand slipped into his pocket. Ananke's eyes, as well as those of the two souls, followed his movements. Her breath caught when she saw a glimmer of gold and gems—two rings.

It was little known to others that Primordials were not infallible.

With great power came great weakness. There was a reason they protected their soul crystal almost obsessively—it contained a very piece of themselves and regulated their connections to the outside world. Their sheer strength would obliterate the dimensions if it were unleashed.

But the same effect could be recreated.

It was old magic, archaic ones that had been lost to time for a reason. The creator had realized just how volatile such power could be, how corrupting its influence was.

But Ananke remembered.

She had been the one to invent this. The ritual bound a piece of the servant's soul to the master through a ring, and then…

Loyalty at its most twisted.

And in that moment, Ananke's image of Order shattered into a million little bits, just like the fantastical dreams she used to giggle secretly at when she was alone. The rosy light filtering her world abruptly shifted into black and white.

"_No_…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

…oh, what had she _done_?

Order's mouth bent into an ironic, satirical smile. He threw out his hand, wrenching it to his chest in a tearing motion. The souls howled, resisting as best as they could, but it looked as though they were being forcibly ripped apart.

Ananke looked conflicted. She opened her mouth to protest.

"A fitting end," Order whispered. "My first conquest in the beginning of many others. _Sowilo, victorious."_

It was over before it began.

Heat seared everything in its path, and Ananke called upon her inner powers to shield herself before she burned up in the onslaught. After a few seconds, she slowly let her arm drop from where it was shielding her eyes from the blast of light.

Destruction greeted her.

The furniture of the council room was obliterated to nothing but ash, and the remaining bodies as well. Not a splinter remained. In the very center of the floor, smearing across one side of the runic array, was the detonation point.

Charred marks formed swirls and cracks on the ground. If she squinted, she could almost see patterns carved into the black streams. Like letters, like words… like warnings.

The two Primordials had been pushed against the wall by the detonation force. They did not wake. Order was crouched in a half-standing position, bracing himself from being pushed through the wall. For a moment, Ananke let herself hope that the plan had failed.

But there were two rings in Order's hand, and they were fading from an angry red to a cool, dulled blue.

Soul rings. Absolute control. Absolute tyranny.

_(the ultimate weapons are the ones who can't think for themselves)_

"I need to… to check them for weaknesses," she lied through her teeth, trying to quash the shaking in her voice. Order glared at her with suspicion, and she let her eyes drop to the ground.

_"Of course,_ dearest, though you must do something for me first."

His eyes glinted dangerously. Like steel. It carried a subtle warning;_ 'do not attempt to cross me. I will know.'_

Once upon a time, Ananke would have blushed at their proximity, but now she had to forcibly restrain a shudder. Cold fingers snaked over her exposed shoulder.

"Whatever you wish of me, I shall do," she murmured demurely, with all of the internal dread of someone that knew that they were walking into a trap but was unable to stop it. Without seeing, she knew that Order's lips had curled into a satisfactory smile.

"Obliviate Nyx's memories. Aether's as well. They must not remember this night."

A denial sprung automatically to her lips, but she forced herself to swallow it down. There were no other options. Her morals had to be reassessed later on. But if she could create a loophole…

She began the incantation, her eyes glowing white. Her voice steadied and grew powerful. This was her element, her nature. Compulsion rose up around her, thick and cloying. Wind lashed.

Ananke pressed her smouldering hands against Aether's and Nyx's foreheads.

_When you are whole once more, you shall remember._

Nature obeyed her command, leeching her strength to fuel its own. The light breeze turned into wind, and the ground itself shook. The pallid vapour pooling around her upraised hands melded seamlessly into Nyx and Aether, forming a brief, shimmering blanket.

_They shall manipulate your mind no more._

She fell to her knees, gasping, blinking the shrieking stars from her eyes. Through the feeling of her body burning up beyond describable proportions, she felt a cold hand latch gently onto her wrist.

Their palms pressed together. The two rings spilled into her hand, a dull clatter of metal ringing thinly in the air.

Power.

Power was greed. It was not an object, it was not alive, and yet, it could drive mortals and immortals alike to nigh insanity. While Ananke had never understood before, tendrils of lust curled around her heart.

She could feel herself shivering as the gems heated to unbearable proportions under her touch, scalding her palms. Faint white smoking coalesced over the surface, forming two figures, Aether's with dark features and Nyx's with black hair and electric blue eyes.

Compulsion… this was her domain. And what she had made out of mistake, she could also destroy.

She crushed them under her fist, forcibly shredding it apart. White mist spilled from between her fingers, and when her hand opened, all that remained of the rings was dust. Dust that blew away in the wind.

Order gave a terrible yell.

But he was too late. Far too late. And as Ananke watched the ashes float away on the wind and felt Order's sword run her through, she smiled a bloody smile.

"You… are a… fool, Order. Death will not be… merciful."

Order pulled his sword through with an enraged shout.

She lurched forward, hands cupping the wound. A large red blossom spread over her gossamer-like shift, weighing it down and sticking to her skin. Instead of blood, she began to spit out white mist, white mist that trickled down her chin and dissipated into the air. Her eyes glowed with searing white light until it was impossible to make out the individual pupils and irises.

For a second, a wraithlike, pale image of Ananke stood hovering and trapped in Order's grip. Order gave a feral smile, vicious and entirely past the boundaries of humanity.

"I have your soul now," he mused, soft and dangerous. Skirting a glance at the runic circle beside him, which was glowing with a flickering red light, his eyes caught the tiny flaw marring its surface. The energy source was missing. "While it isn't the one I expected to have, it will serve its purpose. And you've so generously volunteered. I have nothing to lose."

He let go.

The runes glowed a deep burgundy, murmuring a rising tide of archaic words that were unintelligible to time.

Black smoke hissed from the now complete array, glowing with pallid milky luminescence. Wisps of darkness swirled together in ever tightening circles. From the bottom, it formed two feet, moving upwards to create legs of shadow. A torso shrouded in darkness, and finally, eyes that pierced through Order's very soul.

A hint of a smirk.

With several bursts of light, blinding like a supernova, all was still.

The newly created figure was dressed in elegant clothing and was standing in the very centre of the now blackened rune circle. He was inspecting his nails in an almost careless fashion.

"Hmm," he intoned, turning his hand over before flicking his eyes lazily to meet Order's. "Why have you called me here?"

"…you're not Perseus."

A carelessly lifted eyebrow.

"Oh, so you've noticed. Was that who you were aiming for? You made a mistake with the runes. See, here," the figure prodded a specific array with one foot, "you have it on a forty degree angle. It was supposed to be thirty five. And this cluster," he pointed to the rune directly in front of him, "you were supposed to use the summoned's true name. You used the wrong one."

"Perseus is his real name," Order insisted.

"If you say so," the figure said dryly. Order could feel the amusement emanating into the air, hidden underneath a façade of boredom. "Cutting straight to the chase, I see."

"Who are you?" he finally demanded.

The figure leapt off of the raised dais, the ground cracking where he stepped. He straightened and dusted off his clothes, as though that was perfectly normal, as if it was natural to have destruction following him everywhere he went.

Dark green eyes met his; Order caught his breath in astonishment.

"In a way, I _am_ Perseus. You may know me as Pontus."

Order's face rapidly turned a pasty white. "No… that's… "

"Impossible?" Pontus supplied. He was now less than a foot away. His breath was hot. "You, of all immortals, should know that it is not. You've always craved power. Lusted for it. And Perseus was powerful, I'll admit," here, Pontus' face twisted into a soured expression, "but he was too unpredictable for you to control. So you decided to create a bunch of miniature clones from his blood, hoping that you could recreate his bloodline. Make clones of him and pass off any similarities as your son. Most of them failed. Hydros was one of those, as I recall. Died in the laboratory. I was the only success. Isn't that why I used to look so similar to _him_?"

Order opened his mouth. Then closed it. And opened it again, but all that came out was a weak stutter.

_"You… "_

Pontus chuckled, a dark sound that drew out the shadows clinging to his skin. "I am the _future_ Pontus. The younger me is still in your lab, floating in the incubation chamber. We are no longer the same. Fate has diverged."

Order blew out a tired breath. His eyes darted to the side, but Aether and Nyx were still crumbled where they had fallen.

"Ahh… " Pontus drew out the last syllables slowly, as though savoring the taste of them. "I remember them. Aether and Nyx. The Commanders. You've tried to bind them to your will, but that didn't work so well, did it?"

Order's eyes narrowed. "Whatever point you are trying to make, get to it."

"Perhaps we can come to an… agreement, of sorts," Pontus edged carefully, his eyes alight with vicious mirth. "We each want something, and we can help each other out there."

Order lowered his sword, light scintillating over the jagged surface. When he looked down, indecision was reflected back at him.

"What is it you wish in return?"

"To destroy the Original, so that I may finally be out of his shadow. In return, I will follow your bidding."

"Perseus is dead, Pontus," Order said warily_. "_He will_ stay that way."_

Pontus only gave him a slight smile, as if saying _'that's what you think.' _"Then you will have nothing to lose. Do we have a deal?" he pressed.

Order hesitated, but inclined his head in agreement.

Pontus smiled the first true smile he had seen since their first encounter. It was not a pleasant expression. Too much teeth and much too poisonous an expression to suit Order's liking. He suddenly got the feeling that he'd just made a deal with the devil, but his fate was already sealed and he may as well make the best of it.

"You will have to go by a pseudonym," Order warned. "One Pontus already exists, and you being another may create a paradox."

Pontus stepped back and into the shadows. Whatever qualities had been transferred to this Pontus through Perseus, charm was not one of them, but stealth seemed.

His laugh was a harsh, barking sound that oddly reminded Order of waterfalls gushing over spiked rocks. As of there was something remotely funny about the entire situation. Pontus bared his teeth.

Verdurous eyes gleamed.

"Then you may call me νερό."

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>A change of scene.<p>

Aether floated in the darkness for what seemed like eternity. It was cramped, and he was barely sentient. There wasn't enough room to move his tiny arms and legs, and he had to keep them huddled tightly to his body.

Was this death?

It was peaceful, this hazy world. He could hear the gentle thrum of a heartbeat ringing in his ears, and it soothed him. Still, he knew his time here was limited. Soon, he would have to leave.

And that time did come after many more months. It was not as peaceful as he'd imagined. There were screams of pain, beeps of machines oscillating between frenetic and shrill. There were encouraging shouts, harried voices, and it was all so loud and _chaotic_.

He decided he didn't like it out there, where nothing made sense, and resolutely clung tighter.

There was something frightening about the unknown that stirred the faintest sense of human instinct. It tasted foreign. Raw and bitter and clenching… fear?

Then the warmth was gone. He was cold. So cold. The light of the moon—no, it was the round face of a surgical lamp—was blinding. Voices. Blue-cloaked hands wrapped in some sort of plastic material. They reached for him.

He screamed.

There wasn't much more to remember. The light of the new world was too bright, the colors washing together. There was a lot of crying, he knew, and the cold, unpleasant feelings of water against his skin.

He opened his eyes for the first time.

The first thing that truly drew his attention was when a chubby finger poked his cheek. He whimpered, turning his head away from the invasion. The warm arms carefully cradling his tiny body shook with laughter, soft and warm. Precious gems in a melodic harmony.

The girl with the dark features and bright smile looked inquisitively to her mother, puppy dog eyes pleading. "He's so small! Can we keep him? _Please_?"

His mother had olive colored skin and hair so dark it was almost blue. She had the little girl's eyes; they crinkled at the edges when she smiled. There was a rope of pearls around her neck, and it looked very out-of-place when compared to her sweaty and dishevelled appearance.

She was warm in more ways than one.

But then he could feel her shifting him into the arms of another, one missing the warmth that she radiated. The man had a conflicting expression on his face —his father?— and his hands were like ice. His dark eyes opened to fix on his father's voidless, deathless ones, and he immediately knew with a baby's cognition that this man was _not normal_.

_(but who was he to speak?)_

"Daddy!" the little girl chirped, her black curls bouncing as she leapt onto the man's knee, almost crushing her little brother if the man had not moved him out of the way with inhuman reflexes. "What should we name him?"

The man looked to the woman with such tenderness and love in his eyes that for a moment, his cold aura melted. The scent of death lessened.

"What do you think, Maria?"

Maria was still flushed and tired from giving birth, her hair a mess, but she never looked happier. She cradled the baby to her and cooed.

"Alexander?" she tried, tickling the edge of the baby's nose. Aether sneezed.

The man scoffed.

"Defender of Mankind? No son of mine will be associated with such a rash and ignorant fool. The mortals may have called Alexander 'Great,' but history is written by the victors. Midas takes great pleasure in insulting him."

"Arthur?"

A pause.

"No."

"James?"

"Absolutely not."

The girl, still perched on the man's knee, piped up, "What 'bout Victoria? Mummy says you were gonna name me that, but I like Bianca better."

Maria smiled serenely at her daughter. "That's a wonderful idea, Bianca. Nikolai means 'victory for the people.' We can call him Nico for short. What do you think, love?"

The man huffed and looked away, but there was a pleased smile curling one side of his mouth despite his best efforts.

"Nico it is, then. He'll make me proud, I'm sure."

To the outside world, it was as though time had stopped, and the only importance was on the woman, god, and little girl huddling around the baby, admiring his soft, silky hair and cheerful smile (which he most definitely did not get from his father).

They knew he would be special.

And somewhere deep inside of the newly named Nico di Angelo, Aether slept, waiting for the moment he would wake once more.

-o-

"Tag! You're it!"

A nine-year old Nico shrieked with laughter and dodged behind a large white pillar, avoiding his sister as she shouted and chased after him. Cackling gleefully, he abandoned his post when she came too close and ran towards his mother, Bianca hot at his heels.

Taking a sharp turn, he suddenly found himself at a dead end. Looking hastily behind his shoulder, he saw Bianca coming up from behind him, growling and baring her teeth playfully, prowling closer.

_"It's safe. Go forth."_

On hindsight, Nico didn't know what possessed him to run at the wall. He only followed a quiet voice in his head that urged him to do so, and instead of crashing into the plastered wallpaper decorated with tiny flowers, he sank right _through_ the shadows.

Bianca gave a startled yelp behind him. In the darkness, the only thing he could make out were her eyes, glowing in a soft, cat-like manner.

"This is so _cool_!" he said in a hushed whisper, barely containing his excitement. Their game was forgotten. "We've found a secret passage!"

This was what Columbus felt like when he stumbled across North America. This was what the first astronauts felt like when they saw the Earth glittering like a blue pea beneath them, so small and insignificant in the universe.

Bianca's eyes were round. "We have?"

Nico nodded furiously, his hair flopping in front of his eyes. He blew it away in annoyance.

"Yeah! It's hidden to look like a wall, but we were able to go through it because we have secret powers or something. Maybe like the ones on the Mythomagic cards!"

This time, Bianca didn't try to withhold her exasperated sigh.

"Well, okay," Nico amended. "Maybe not _you_ then. You wouldn't have superpowers. You're a _girl_. Girls have to look _pretty_ and wear flowers and lace and stuff. Don't worry, Bianca! I'll save you and defeat all of the big, bad monsters!"

Growling under her breath at Nico's boasting, she muttered, "I'll show you _girl_, Nico di Angelo!"

It was never good when Bianca got into one of these righteous tempers. Seizing Nico's ear, she dragged the vehemently protesting boy out. Nico dug his heels into the ground, carving out two furrows as Bianca plodded on. Eventually, he had to give up and follow as best as he could, or risk being ear-less.

"Wait! Bianca! Oww… ow, stop twisting my ear! We still need to explore! Maybe we'll find a dragon's cave, and I'll use my awesome powers, and we'll all be rich, and—"

"Don't be silly, Nico. There's no such thing as dragons, and Mythomagic cards aren't real. Greek gods don't exist."

Nico pouted, and he was about to—

Bianca suddenly raised a hand, frowning in concentration. Nico stewed in silence, massaging his ear and scowling at his sister, convinced that it had swollen to the size of a tomato and was equally as red.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered. There was no laughter in her voice now. Wide eyes met; thunderstorms always frightened them in ways they could not explain.

A rumble. A crackle of ozone.

The ground shook. Like there was a giant stomping towards them, trying to crush them underfoot.

"We need to get back," Bianca said, her voice trembling with dread. This time, Nico didn't protest as she grasped his hand and they ran out of the shadow world, bursting out of the wall in a frenzy of movement.

Bianca's skin was clammy, and Nico knew his wasn't much better.

Danger snapped at their heels. There was nothing funny about this now.

"Daddy!" Nico shouted across the hotel's lobby. Immediately, the dark eyed man's head snapped up, fixing them with a piercing gaze. He had been staring after their mother, who had gone back up the hotel to fetch her purse, but his attention had turned to them with some mild annoyance.

"What is it, children?"

Bianca reached him before Nico did. She always was faster than him. Clutching fistfuls of his clothing, she looked up at him with beseeching eyes, her breathing still coming in sharp gasps from their run.

"Thunderstorm… "

Their father's eyes widened. He grasped both of their hands, pulling them with him. They struggled to keep up with his long strides.

"We're going to get your mother, and we're going to get out of here," he said tightly. "Zeus is impatient, and I've already passed his deadline."

Nico's right hand was clasped in his father's icy one, and he piped up cheerfully, "Zeus has 600 lightning bolt damage—"

"Be _silent_, Nikolai," his father spat, and Nico flinched back as if slapped. He bit his lip, his large eyes welling up with unshed tears. Bianca fixed her father with a reproachful glare, which he resolutely ignored.

"Where're we going?" Bianca demanded, sending a comforting glance at Nico.

"Where you will be safe," he replied tightly.

There was another clap of thunder. The hiss of ozone. Their father cursed.

"Maria!" he shouted, and in that moment, their hotel _exploded_.

Blinding white light howled, tearing through the roofs and walls as if they were nothing more than paper. Their father's grip on both of their hands tightened to the point where Nico was sure his bones were crushed to power. He felt a cold iciness seep from his hand, along his arm, and down his entire body.

There was an outward rush of power, shredding everything it touched to ashes. Nico could feel the heat blistering his skin, but it was held at bay by a different power, one that flowed through his veins like dark fire.

Then it was gone, and Nico dropped to his knees. Gasping, he looked from between his father's legs at Bianca, who was doubled over, coughing up ash but was otherwise fine. He began to relax, breathing an outward sigh of relief. Their father had protected them—

That was before he looked up, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

His father looked… different. More terrible. Darker. His clothing had changed into something black and metal plated, and when he dropped Nico's hand, he realized that there was a two-pronged staff in his grip, the tips fizzling with power. On his head, sat a crown of skulls, but as he watched, it turned into a circle of thorns tipped with blood. A blood red cape covered his shoulders.

Nico crawled to Bianca, and his elder sister held him close, though she too was shivering with fear. The two siblings watched as their father turned his deathless eyes to them. He could see despair in them, a rapid flowing river filled with lost hopes and dreams, and a skeletal ferry, before he was left staring at his own reflection in those glassy eyes.

"H-Hades… " Bianca whispered, sounding half in awe, half horrified as he towered over them.

Still, there was no mistaking that he was their father. Their faces held the same features and their builds were the same.

… impossible. This wasn't happening. It wasn't. This was all some really hyped-up dream, but when Nico pinched his arm, leaving a blue-black bruise in its place, he felt only pain, and enough confusion to make his head explode like the hotel had.

His mother would be able to explain.

Yes, she would help him wake up from this dream turned nightmare.

He opened his mouth to ask, but it caught in his throat when he saw Hades (was he still his father, the man who held him while he cried over a scraped knee, or was that just a lie too?) with a body clutched to his chest. He was rocking back and forth, muttering Greek incantations under his breath, crying silently.

It took a minute for Nico to recognize the charred figure. One hand lay limply, ash white, against the remnants of the once expensive hotel. Bianca screamed and fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Nico tried to catch her, but she was too heavy and they both went down, his left arm pinned underneath her. They crashed to the ground in an awkward tumble of limbs. He struggled to move her off, but before he could, they were being bound by fiery ropes—no, a long, snaky whip.

A very wrinkly _thing_ looked down at them, and for once, Nico wished he had Bianca's knowledge of mythology. Bat wings flared from behind her, buffeting the air with the taint of death.

Her arms were clammy and cold, and as she hauled Nico and his still unconscious sister away, Nico had time to reach through the gaps of the whip and scream, "DADDY!"

Hades turned away. Nico sobbed, reaching for him, but he was plunged into darkness—into the shadows, and little did he know that he would forget he even had a father in the first place.

He didn't see the tear that slipped down Hades' cheek, and he would never get the chance to.

It would be years until they met again, and by then, he would hate everything having to do with the gods.

-o-

"The Lotus Hotel and Casino," Nico read off of the flashing sign, then turned back to Alecto, their lawyer. He didn't even remember how they had a lawyer, but figured he didn't want to know. "Are you _sure_ we're in the right place?"

"I'm sure," Alecto said in a clipped voice.

Nico shrugged. "Double sure?" he persisted.

Alecto glared at him. Nico turned away sullenly.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Be that way."

The first thing that hit them was the cool, air conditioned scent of lotuses. It was sweet, pleasant, and intoxicating. All around them, arcade games buzzed and giant waterslides looped around the main lobby. Nico could hear screams of joy emanating from inside the multicolored tubes. Waiters and caterers passed around glasses of champagne or small snacks, but he could see where an exquisite meal was set out on various tables.

It was Bianca who summed it up the best in one word.

"Wow."

Laughing, Nico latched onto Bianca's arm and dragged her towards the food. If it was anything like the rest of the hotel, it was bound to be the best thing he ever tasted.

"Come on! I'm hungry!"

It did not disappoint.

It was a cuisine from all cultures, and Nico ran along the side in excitement, piling his plate up until it threatened to topple over him. It was then that Bianca decided to intervene.

"Alright, Nico," she took his fork away, despite his protests, and led him to a table, "finish _that_, and then we'll see if you can get more."

Nico scarfed it down faster than Bianca thought was possible. With a belch, he sat back and patted his stomach. "Can we go on the waterslide or the games? It looks really fun!"

His sister huffed in amusement. "Boys," she muttered fondly, but she did not protest as he cheered and dragged her away.

Time passed. It was not important. The insistent feelings that thrummed in their heads was pushed to the backs of their minds, nothing but a mild annoyance and the niggling feeling that something was wrong.

The anomaly did not wear out. Every day, they discovered something new about the Hotel.

It was paradise.

But for a place that offered so many services and amenities, one would expect it to be packed. It wasn't. Not even close.

About three weeks into their stay, he became aware of a commotion by the front lobby. With dazed eyes, Nico looked up from his video game, blinking when his vision didn't focus properly. He'd been staring at it for the last couple hours, determined to beat a particularly stubborn level.

There was a black haired boy and a blonde girl, dragging a friend between them —the one with the rasta cap— towards the front doors. Bellhops and waiters tried to accost them, but they seemed absolutely determined to leave.

Nico shook his head ruefully and went back to his game. He didn't know why anyone would want to leave this place. For sure, he'd never want to. Nothing outside of the hotel mattered, anyways.

Two days later, a lawyer by the name of Alecto sent them to Westover Hall.

-o-

Bianca held him tight as the silver wolves circled them. From between her protective arms, he could make out flashes of arrows and bronze.

The thing that had been Mr. Thorn was… ugly. Well, he had always been ugly, but now he was sporting a face that only a mother would love. Not to mention the poisonous tail.

He could feel the rumbles of the earth as the ground itself responded to their fight. Percy, the black haired boy, was breathing heavily. His sword was trembling in his hand and he was unsteady on his feet. He thrust Riptide into the air and roared a challenging cry.

When their gazes met in a lull in the battle, recognition sparked.

Nico suddenly had the feeling that his eyes were the wrong color.

Percy's mouth moved, shouting something, but Nico heard different words instead, ones that pulled at the edges of his memory, like a long forgotten dream.

_"… this is the fifth time in one week that you've fallen asleep in the training ground, Aether. And if you won't stop, I shall throw you into the fountain in front of that girl you've been making doe eyes at… Isolde, was it? Yes… I don't think she'll be too pleased with your bumbling self ruining her new dress."_

The voice was laced with amusement and exasperation. It was familiar and warm, but Nico couldn't quite put his finger on it… he closed his eyes and followed the pull…

A heavy force slammed into Nico, knocking him backwards, so hard that something in his chest cracked. The vague feeling of lethargy faded immediately.

There was a shout of pain.

Percy was half standing, half collapsed against the ground, one arm flung out to support his fall. He was the one that had pushed Nico out of the way. Bianca's sleeve was pinned to a nearby tree trunk, and she was yanking against it desperately.

His face was cast into shadow, chin dropped to his chest. Blood trickled from a large gash on his lip. But there was too much blood staining his shirt, too much slicking his skin deathly red.

The blonde girl screamed. The manticore's attention was turned elsewhere when she took a running leap and tackled the monster. It was hard to tell if she was crying from anger or terror. Dr. Thorn had gotten one of them after all.

Nico trembled, but it wasn't from fear.

Wild, unimaginable anger. A blinding rage threatened to overtake him, to engulf the world in white and exact his vengeance on all who dared to harm _his_.

_(this wasn't the first time he'd watched him die)_

Then, Percy's arm moved from where it was crossed over his chest. His eyes opened again. Grimacing, he pulled the spike out, the tip a messy mix of blood and poison. His movements were sluggish. The paralyzing toxin was beginning to take effect.

Annabeth sobbed his name in relief.

He was wounded but alive, even if he might not be in a few moments. He stared at the spike uncomprehendingly for a few long seconds before letting it drop to the ground, a strange expression on his face.

_(makeshift knives)_

The indescribable feelings frothing in Nico's chest immediately subsided, leaving only a dull pounding in Nico's ears. He almost thought he could hear a tired sigh, and realized that it was his.

_"—don't worry about me so much. I can take care of myself, or I would've been killed long ago."_

_"It was a close thing. One centimeter more to the left… "_

Bianca's arms were around Nico, dragging him into the relatively rocky cover of a protruding slab of stone. He struggled—no, they couldn't go just yet—but Bianca was stronger and wrestled her little brother down, pushing his head towards the ground until all he could see was the rough texture of the rubbled stones.

The sounds of fighting. Screeches of metal.

Then, a choked cry, like a cat being strangled. Percy shouted, "Let go of her!"

Nico seized Bianca's momentary distraction and snaked out of her arms. She made a grab for him, but her fingertips only brushed the back of his oversized Westover Hall uniform.

Dr. Thorn's hairy arm was wrapped around Annabeth's neck. One good squeeze would make her head pop off, like the cork of a champagne bottle.

Her knife lay in the dust by her feet, covered by the clouds of dirt rising as she struggled to get free. Her hair straggled from its ponytail. Dr. Thorn's face twisted into an ugly leer.

"If I can't have one of you, then at least I'll get her. Kronos will still reward me greatly."

They leaned over the edge. A Yankees cap fluttered weakly in the wind, snagged on a branch of thorns.

"Annabeth!" Percy yelled, stumbling over his feet. Their fingertips brushed, and she was gone.

Nico rushed to the side of the precipice, ignoring Bianca's protesting cries. Sharp wind whipped his hair away from his face with stinging claws. Hands over his knees, panting, he peered over the edge. She was nothing more than an orange speck in a sea of black clouds.

Strangely enough, Nico saw someone else falling in her place, into an endless pit, and he caught a glimpse of green eyes (the same shade as Percy's) before the vision faded.

He took a step forward, mesmerized by the way the shadows flowed over a liquid surface, churning and boiling—

"—_you need to stop doing that, Aether. I won't always be there to catch you."_

A loose stone.

His foot slipped. The rock crumbled eagerly. He struggled for a purchase, but his hands scrabbled uselessly at gravel and he slipped over the side. For a horrifying moment, there was nothing but air below him.

An open, yawning pit that howled in triumph, clawed hands grasping his too-big clothing, trying to suck him into the endless void of sky.

Nico squeezed his eyes closed and screamed, a wordless sound of terror. He had never felt this raw an emotion before, the rough, frenzied palpitation of his heart as it told him, _'you are going to die.'_

_"Aether—?"_

_"Percy! Help me!"_

It all happened in a matter of seconds, so fast that Nico hadn't even had time to comprehend his surroundings. His vision was a blur of blue-black storm clouds, the dark outcrop of rock, Bianca's despairing hand reaching for him…

A hand clenched over his wrist, burningly cold, like a prison brand. For a second, his descent slowed, but his momentum and weight proved too much for one person to hold. His savior was being dragged over the edge with him.

There was the sound of metal plunging into rock. Stone dust rained down in a fine shower.

Riptide gleamed in the dying sun. The wind faded to a murmur.

Twisting his head to the side, he could make out Percy glaring down at him, eyes rimmed with red. The sun shining from behind his silhouette must have been playing tricks on his eyes, for Nico saw another in his place, with the same features, but taller and with bloodstained black armor.

"What do you think—"

_"—you're doing?"_

_Aether blinked, gasping for breath, trying to calm his thundering heart. "I… "_

"Foolish boy," Percy hissed at him, his voice sounding strange and foreign. "That was a stupid thing to do."

Riptide was impaled into the cliff. Percy's left hand was gripping the hilt, and it was beginning to bend from the pressure being forced to hold up the two of them.

The rock around the sword cracked, a sound that echoed like gunshot. Chunks of stone fell. Nico lost sight of a particularly large piece after it passed through the clouds. The blanket of mist dipped, widening into a hole that rapidly closed up, the rock swallowed.

A sudden bout of vertigo made his head spin, and he looked away sharply.

_(that will be him, soon enough)_

Riptide let out a moaning sound. The rock all around had chipped into a chasm-like hole, and the blade was beginning to sink lower and lower, slipping out. They dropped another few inches, Nico's heart leaping into his throat.

Percy's grip became tighter, but Nico could feel his body shaking with exertion. He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Green eyes looked down at him, then at Bianca. She was crouched over the edge, arm reached out for them, but was too far away. Her hand was pale and white and small in the backdrop of rainy skies.

"I hope you can catch," he told her, his voice low. "Grover will be here soon. Trust him. He'll get you to Camp."

Bianca seemed to hesitate, but the selfish desire of wanting her brother alive over some stranger's prevailed, even if said stranger had just saved their lives multiple times.

She nodded. Her lips pressed tightly together in concentration, until it was a thin, hard line.

"No!" Nico demanded hotly. Something inside of him stirred. He wasn't thinking straight anymore. "I'm not leaving—"

Percy threw.

His hand slipped from the hilt.

Riptide fell, a glimmer of bronze before the clouds sucked it away.

Nico collided with Bianca. The world blurred from open skies into solid earth. They rolled away from the edge in a spray of dust and limbs. He disentangled himself and ran to the ledge, careful to watch his step. Percy was nowhere to be seen.

"Percy!" he yelled.

Only echoes replied.

_"—oh Chaos, don't be dead, please don't be dead. Someone get Nyx! Get… get a medic! Percy, open your eyes, by the Void, this isn't funny—"_

A ripple of shadow. A rasping cough.

"What are you shouting for?"

Nico spun around. His mouth went dry in disbelief.

"How…?"

Percy was slowly getting to his feet, inspecting the backs of his hands, frowning intently. There was a cut on his forehead, thick and dark. It curved towards his left eye. Riptide must have cut him when it fell.

"I don't know. I fell. I hit the side of the wall. Then, it was white, like I'd dropped onto another dimension or something. The earth was gone, and nothing existed except for shadows. The next thing I know, I'm here."

The demigod blinked, and attempted to take a step forward, but Bianca refused to let go of him. "What were you two saying? How come I never knew you could speak another language? Nico?"

Percy was several feet away now, his back facing them. He wasn't listening. Nico leaned forward. "What? You heard us the whole time."

She shook her head, dark curls bouncing over one shoulder. Her green hat, which had once hid her face from the rest of the world, had been blown off by the wind. Her cheeks were flushed with color, eyes too-bright, burning into Nico's.

"I couldn't understand the two of you. You weren't speaking English. Actually, you weren't speaking any language that I know of."

"You probably just heard wrong," Nico insisted, ignoring the spidery cold that had begun to seep into his skin. The sun was shining, hot and yellow. "Unless you're saying that you can speak every language in the world. We're demigods or something, right? Maybe we have different abilities."

"Maybe," she replied. Nico could tell she wasn't convinced.

He kept his eye on Percy. He was walking in front of them with the defeated air of someone who has lost too much in too short a time; hands shoved into his pockets, clenched into shaking fists, head dropped to his chest.

It brought back tiny whispers of voices in Nico's head. It was probably just the excitement of the day. He was imagining things that didn't exist.

They had never met before. This was their first encounter.

So why was he so familiar?

-o-

"—hey, can I see your sword? You know, that awesome bronze one."

Percy scowled slightly. It was obvious he was trying to suppress his annoyance, but his face was like an open book. He fished Riptide out of his pocket, twisting the lid off with a snap. It elongated into a shimmering bronze sword. Nico scrutinized it carefully…

"Does it ever run out of ink?"

Percy almost choked on nectar. Grover sniggered.

"Err, I don't write with it, Nico."

Nico frowned, looking from the Mythomagic card in his hand to the supposed son of the sea. They didn't look anything alike—Percy didn't have seaweed growing out of his hair, and he didn't have a beard.

"You're pulling my leg, aren't you? You don't look anything like Poseidon! See?"

He flipped the card over, practically shoving it in Percy's face, whose hand twitched, almost as if he was resisting the urge to strangle Nico.

"That's nice, but I didn't choose to be born, and Dad _really_ doesn't look like that." Percy used the back of his hand to push Nico's arm away, his expression wavering between anger and wry amusement. The tenebrous despair that had clung to him like a living shadow had dissipated. Mission accomplished.

"Oh."

There was several moments of pause, which Percy received with a relieved sigh. Then:

"Is Annabeth your girlfriend?"

This time, Percy really did choke.

-o-

A Mythomagic figurine was in his hand. It glimmered sadly in the light of the sun.

He knew the truth long before Percy opened his mouth. Bianca had gotten Hades for him, and had paid with a one-way trip to Hades herself. But he couldn't accept this—she was _Bianca._ She couldn't leave him, not after all of the things they'd been through together. After all they'd seen and endured.

Surging forward, he stopped in front of Percy and pleaded, desperately, "You promised me… she's safe, right? She's just… just hiding among the rocks, and she's going to come out any moment and surprise me, _right?"_ Spinning on his heel, he turned his back on Percy and shouted into the woods, "Bianca! It's not funny anymore! Stop playing hide-and seek. We grew out of that years ago! Bianca?"

By the end, he was almost crying.

Percy's eyes were dead, a darker ring of almost black circling the iris.

"…I'm sorry."

Nico squeezed his eyes closed, angry tears threatening to spill over. He sucked in a trembling breath through clenched teeth.

Percy was silent.

"She wanted you to have this…" he said quietly, after a long pause. In a fit of rage, Nico seized it out of his hand and threw it on the ground, the tinny metal rolling away with a thin ring.

"I DON'T _CARE_!" he screeched, and Percy took a step back, his face twisted as though Nico had just stabbed him with a rusty knife. "You said you would protect her, you _liar_! You _promised_!"

Words, tasting tannic and rough, scorched his throat. They tasted bitter with a vengeful sweetness, and he savoured their razor-sharp taste. Percy could have easily stopped him. Could had reached out and crushed his head with one hand. But he let it happen.

_"Why couldn't you have died instead?"_

Percy flinched backwards. As if it was he that had lost his protector, his confidante, his only friend in the world.

No. He wouldn't understand, no matter how much he pretended and deceived that he did. He was popular, he was loved, he was strong enough to take care of himself.

Nico watched him go. The remains of a skeleton warrior glimmered by his feet—white bones. He was on his knees, the little Hades figurine clutched tightly in his hand, and he wept over it, for the sister he would never see again, for _himself_—he was alone in the world once more…

_(that was the first time he began to hate Percy)_

-o-

If there was an emotion Nico knew most intimately, it was Hate.

The raw hunger gnawed at his chest until it was all he could think about; like a black hole, it consumed his very being, sucking away at his soul until only revenge and abhorrence was left behind, too thick and too tangible to fade.

"Forgive him, Nico," Bianca's spirit begged, but she didn't _understand_, and she never would. She had abandoned him as soon as she'd had the chance, too. Just like everyone else.

"It was my fault. I knew not to touch anything, and my actions put everyone else in danger."

"I don't care," Nico growled sullenly, gritting his teeth. "Percy promised. He lied, and now you're dead, just like everyone else."

Bianca only gave him this sad, disappointed look, which was somehow worse.

"You have no right to look at me in that way!" His voice came out as a frenzied roar. His nails were digging into his skin and was drawing blood, but he could care less. In his rage, he slashed his hand through her smoky figure, and she disappeared in the wind.

Instead of appeasing the anger bubbling in his chest, it only served to make Nico feel worse. Panting heavily, he glared at his hand, as though it was the reason Bianca was dead. As if it were the reason why he could reach out and he would go right through her image. Because that was all she was now—a mere shadow of her former self.

Storming out of Geryon's mansion, he slammed the door shut behind him with an audible crack. The threshold shook.

"Geryon, we had a—"

It was precisely then that he realized exactly who was in front of him, staring back with wide green eyes.

_"YOU!"_

Nico flung himself forward, but Geryon's arm snapped out, hitting him in the chest and sending him reeling back. His Stygian Iron sword hummed in his hand, ringing with the scream Nico felt silently building inside of him.

"Now, now, I'd appreciate it if my guests aren't trying to kill each other. No weapons, y'know. Otherwise, I'd hafta get Eurytion to kill ya."

Nico glared, but one look at the large and buff son of Ares, he reluctantly let his sword fall back into its sheath.

"Tha's better!" Geryon boomed, clapping his hands together loudly. "Now, ev'ryone, get in for the tour!"

Percy eyed the moo-moo train dubiously, looking rather pointedly at the large cow bell affixed to the very front. His raised eyebrows seemed to say, _'are you kidding me?'_

Nico eyed Eurytion, calculating his chances of escape, before he sat reluctantly on the very back seat with a loud thump. Eurytion remained next to him, his cowhide boots propped up in the front, his arms crossed so that his inflated muscles looked even bigger.

… even though it was kind of hard to take him seriously, when he looked like a really buff Santa that had gone redneck.

The tour was abysmal. They got to see Apollo's sacred red cows, the flesh eating horses, and various other farmyard animals. Nico sneered at anyone who dared to look his way.

"Let me out, _now_, Geryon. I've obliged to your stupid tour. Do your part of our deal and I'll be on my way. We'll never see each other again. You can entertain your… _guests,_ later."

Geryon rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. "Hmm… tha's tempting. 'S really, ya know. But tha's the thing. I don't think I'll follow through after all. The Titans have a reward for anyone who can bring them a kid of the Three." Grinning, a gold tooth gleamed in the light. "After all, money is money, and I _am_ a businessman."

Percy stiffened. His hand edged towards his pocket. Geryon caught the motion and waved him away carelessly.

"Not you. You and your little friends can go. 'S the son of Hades I want. I've been paid to let you go through, and I _always keep my promises." _

A mocking edge lined his statement, which was met by silence. Nico's arms were wrenched behind his back. He tried to remain silent, but a pained hiss escaped his throat before he was able to contain it.

"Nico is my friend, though," Percy insisted, a hard, stubborn glare coming into his eyes. At this, Nico couldn't help but snort out loud.

"Us, friends?" he said scathingly. Percy frowned at him. A kind of fierce annoyance glittered in his eyes, reflecting the fire of the barbeque pit, setting them aflame.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to save your scrawny little emo ass here. It'll be nice if I can get some help."

Nico turned his head away stubbornly. Percy sighed.

"Fine. You're a businessman, Geryon, right? Well, I'll make a deal with you. I'll clean the stables. Yes, the ones with the flesh eating horses. But you'll have to promise me that you'll let all of us go when I finish. _Including_ Nico."

"No!" Nico shouted. "Don't you _dare,_ Jackson—"

Eurytion clamped his hand over his mouth, and the rest of his words were lost in an angry noise, like that of a particularly incensed cat.

Annabeth's glare was venomous. Grover looked hesitant, but for once, he was not smiling. Both of them wore an expression that clearly said that they would have left Nico to die. If it meant survival, then they would throw him to the wolves.

Only Percy's jaw remained stubbornly set.

A chill went down Nico's back.

"You'd better appreciate this," Annabeth muttered under her breath. The last syllables of her words were muffed as a gag was stuffed into her mouth. The ropes cut deeply into her skin, leaving twisted marks of red and purple bruises.

Time passed. Percy disappeared over the horizon.

The sun dipped lower in the sky.

… it was impossible to hate someone who constantly puts their neck out on the line for you. Nico tried to glare back at Annabeth, but it came out as a half-hearted grimace.

He suddenly had the disillusioning feeling that if he were to keel over dead at that very instant, no one would care.

"Well," Geryon said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Pro'bly got himself eaten, that one. Ah well. More money for me! Y'all fetch me a good price."

"I think not," a voice rang out, clear and bold.

Percy was running across the field, dishevelled and smelling like the thousand-year-old stables, but somehow still managed to looking commanding all the same.

"I cleaned out the stables, just like you said!" he shouted again. "Let my friends go."

Geryon grunted for a moment, then said, "Eurytion, kill 'im."

Beside him, Annabeth shouted and thrashed in her bonds, the gag stuffed into her mouth stifling her curses. Grover's eyes were beseeching. Nico felt his own heartbeat rise, a flutter of movement pushing the roar of blood through his ears.

Eurytion surveyed them for a few seconds, then sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. He stretched the kinks out of his back and propped the sword against his knees.

"Kill him yourself," he rumbled dismissively, not missing the way his boss's face rapidly turned from its usual ruddy red to green, then puce, then an angry white; like that of a stoplight's.

"Fine!" Geryon bellowed, throwing down the hot poker. The tip glowed a metallic orange of superheated metal. "I'll get ya both, myself!"

They fought.

There was no sound conclusion. Annabeth's eyes were feverishly bright, and her hands were clenched. Each time Percy narrowly missed being decapitated, the crease between her eyebrows would lighten slightly, before furrowing again when he was not fast enough to escape entirely unscathed. Bright splotches of color darkened her cheeks, and it looked as though her brain was going at a million miles per minute.

Grover had his eyes closed, and if his mouth wasn't gagged, Nico knew that he would be muttering prayers under his breath. Not that it would help. Since when had the gods ever listened to their pleas? Since when had they cared?

A ludicrous concept.

And then time froze. The scene changed. Geryon's butcher knives flashed. There were bloodstains on his aprons.

Camp Half Blood. The battle. Thalia's tree, shrivelled. The dead fleece, winking with a dull light.

Swords clashed.

Toothpicks of metal.

Screams of the fallen. Cries of the still living. Roars of the monsters, spilling from the now fallen borders, streaming in from all sides.

The Titans, resplendent in armor.

In the end, it wasn't Geryon's sword that sunk into Percy's gut, but Kronos'. Death's eyes bore into his. A splotch of red. A shocked, yet resigned expression.

A finger reached out. A heart was stopped.

Nico screamed.

-o-

He remembered pain. And darkness of the macabre kind.

The kind that consumed and shrieked and clawed. And soon, he was falling into its depths, unable to remember his name, unable to remember how he'd even gotten here in the first place.

There were eyes. Yellow pinpricks of light, slanted downwards into a malicious smile. The taste of bitter almonds remained on his tongue, mixing with the raw taste of fear, of poison, of death.

They reached for him. Long, taloned fingers groping from the darkness, yearning to pull him into their depths and consume his flesh, to rip it from his bones.

Something atramentous stirred inside of him. A primal rage. A raw, horrible tug that wrenched his insides loose and rearranged everything in the wrong place.

The rotting hands drew back with shrill screams of alarm.

He felt something thick and heavy seeping icy fingers down his skull, like someone had cracked a frozen egg over his head and it was slowly dripping through his hair. His nose itched, and suddenly, smells overpowered him, smells of darkness and lust and greed, but also of the sadness that remained buried underneath.

It was as though something in this world had finally made sense. Something inside of him _clicked._

He was Aether. He was Nico. They were two parts of the same soul. And now they would be complete, once more.

Aether closed his eyes for the last time.

And thousands of miles away, Nico awoke with a start.

* * *

><p>-<em>X-<em>

* * *

><p>Green-crimson eyes curved into an almost-relieved smile. They were the first thing Nico saw.<p>

"Aether." Erebus closed his eyes, tired, slumping slightly in his seat. The hard back of the chair creaked. It looked very uncomfortable, all hard wood and splinters and nails. Judging by the way Erebus was sitting stiffly against the edge, he'd be there for a long time.

Nico blinked a bit.

Aether?

Yes…

Who was he? Was he Aether, or was he Nico? Or maybe Nither or Aetho? Nicer and Aico?

"Aether?" Erebus asked again, frowning. "Are you alright? You have turned very pale."

Nico pushed the thoughts out of his head, in time to hear the heart monitor stop fluctuating and beeping frenetically in the display beside him. The IV needle in his hand pulled stickily at his skin when he moved his arm, and the rather sadistic part of him just wanted to pull it out, regardless of the pain.

… no wonder Percy had always called him emo.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

His voice was deeper, hoarse from disuse, and more refined than he was used to. Looking down at his blanket covered legs, Nico had the sudden discomfiting thought that he was going to be trying to walk on stilts.

He still wasn't sure what was going on.

He was Aether? Yes. But Aether was a Primordial. He was stronger. He should have dominated when their personalities and experiences combined. But Nico was in control.

Why?

Yet another unanswered question. Just another to add to a sea of millions.

He shook the thoughts from his head, worrying the needle between his fingers. The twinging pain was good at anchoring him to reality.

Another hand gripped his wrist. Nico looked up to see Erebus half-standing, half-looming over him. His shadow fell lightly over the sterile sheets, stretched by the wrinkles and valleys in the fabric. If Nico looked from the corner of his eye, it almost seemed to have a life of its own…

"Do not do that," he chided. "You'll only make it worse."

Nico's fingers twitched.

The shadows refused to respond to him.

"Er, sorry," he said, trying not to show how unsettled be was beginning to feel.

The smile never left Erebus' face. If Aether's memories served him correctly, Nico was pretty sure that he'd never seen Erebus smile for more than a fleeting second at a time, and even those were nigh impossible to come by.

"What… happened?" he said instead, trying to distract himself from an impending brain hemorrhage.

The smile slipped off of Erebus' face like water, leaving a tired and worn canvas behind. It was only a mask after all. He didn't look like he had slept in days, and there was a long, bloody scratch running under his left eye, arcing down his cheekbone. It rippled when he smiled, and threatened to tear open at any given moment.

There was a strip of bandage wrapped around his forehead, comically making his hair stick up in the front.

"What's that around your neck?" Nico asked suddenly. Erebus' frown deepened, and he shifted his clothing so that it was out of sight once more.

The dream whispered poisonous thoughts into Nico's mind, and suddenly, he felt very cold.

"A restraining device," Erebus said, after a long pause. "The High Council believes that I was the one to attack you and kidnap Pontus. They also think that I was the one to orchestrate for the brief struggle of power between the Olympians and Or—"

A terrified scream. Nico's head jerked up.

Several doors burst open.

Nico could see the silhouettes of several people running towards the door next to them, their shadows elongating, falling over the ridge of their door's window, before disappearing altogether. The entire time, Erebus hadn't twitched so much as a finger.

"That was Order," he said calmly, folding his hands in his lap. His eyes were feverishly bright, and there was an almost maniac look in them when they fixed on Nico. His tongue flicked between his teeth—a nervous tick.

The Aether part of Nico surged forward and seized control.

"What do you mean?"

If Erebus heard how his voice was doubled, he didn't show it.

"The Olympians had… taught Order a lesson. He will not be forgetting anytime soon."

The rattle of a doorknob.

The metallic scrapes of a key being forced into the lock.

Erebus sat straight, his eyes fixed straight ahead, mouth pressed into a thin line. Nico started in alarm, quickly rearranging his expression into Aether's customary cool one. It fell naturally into place.

A nurse stood in the doorway. Her frame was outlined with beads of light, coming from the torch shining from braziers behind her. Humming a slightly out-of-tune tune under her breath, all while stealing nervous glances at the door and humming louder to drown out her thoughts, she stepped into Nico's room.

And froze.

The linens dropped from her arms. They fell into a messy shipwreck at her feet. Her hands came up to her mouth, wide eyes staring in disbelief over her clasped fingers.

"My… My Lord… !"

She sank into a respectful bow, but was trembling so hard that she almost fell face-first into the floor.

"Greet her."

There was an odd note in Erebus' voice. He was so still that he almost seemed to blend in with the faded back of the chair.

Perhaps that was why the nurse didn't even seem to hear his words, let alone see him perched by Nico's bedside. Her gaze passed blankly _through_ him, as though he wasn't there at all, and continued to the open window.

"Oh!" she cried in dismay, as if it were some capital offense. "I could have sworn that the windows were closed… you must be cold, my Lord. I'll close it for you and start a fire."

While she was busying herself and her back was turned, Erebus said quietly, "They cannot see me unless I reveal myself."

A whisper of thought crossed Nico's mind, warning and recluse.

_"—you were dead for nineteen minutes—"_

Nico shivered, but it was not from the cold wind blowing in from the open window. Gauze-like silk curtains billowed. The sound of a lone bird's cry.

There was something about the dream, and about Erebus, that was not quite right…

The dream. Once again, it revolved around the nightmare. Was it trying to tell him something? Was it premonition, or just a common fear brought forth from the recesses of his mind?

The heartbeat meter flatlined. The nurse whirled around in alarm. Her eyes flitted from the needles and patches that Nico was currently yanking out mercilessly. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand, apart from Persephone, it was hospitals. From the agreeing murmur in his head, Aether had the same thoughts.

"My Lord, you cannot… !"

He swatted aside her protesting hands roughly.

"I'm fine. Where's Nyx and Erebus?"

She got a strange look on her face at the last name.

"Lady Nyx is in the long term extensive ward. She's… not in her right mind. And… Lord Erebus was the one who attacked you."

Nico pushed himself to his feet, Aether's confusion and rage fuelling his own emotions. A sudden wave of dizziness made him grab the bedpost and cling to it, fighting for breath. He shook off the nurse's steadying hand, but it was stronger than he expected.

"Let go of me," he growled.

"Careful," Erebus warned. Nico whipped his head around so fast that he felt like he'd given himself whiplash. The Dark Primordial's hand was cupping his elbow, keeping him from slipping. Their contact was cold.

"How come she can't see you?" Aether borrowed Nico's voice for a second, then sank back into the recesses of his mind, exhausted from the effort.

"I have told you already."

His patience quickly wore thin.

"Don't you have something to do, other than try to mess with my mind?" Nico snapped back.

Erebus raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly chilling instead of the amiability he'd seen before.

The Aether part of Nico flinched back; he'd recognized the look in his eyes, that cold gleam, and it was only in the heat of battle before his blade met the neck of his opponent. Never once had Aether seen it directed towards himself…

Until now.

"Very well."

Nico didn't see him go. It was as though reality had simply swallowed him up. Folded in on itself like a greeting card.

The shadows rippled.

Suddenly, the world seemed a lot sharper and less grayscale than it had before.

"I need to see Nyx," he insisted to the nurse, who was still hovering over his shoulder indecisively. Her gaze was suddenly captivated by her restlessly fluttering hands. Nico could tell that it would only take a small nudge to sway her. "That is an order."

She curtsied. "Yes, milord."

It was unsettling to have people grovelling at his feet, like he was some kind of deity that could level seas and topple mountains with a single flick of his hand—oh wait, he was. The shock hadn't set in yet, and for that, Nico was grateful.

Bright shafts of light struck his face, and the nurse gasped, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

Nico caught his distorted reflection, stretched out on the rounded belly of a copper brazier. White hair, black eyes. A thin nose, a distinct similarity to Erebus and Nyx in the curve of his chin, the set of his mouth.

All around him, people were dropping to their knees in reverence. "Lord Aether has awoken," they murmured, one to the other, until the words were repeated over and over like a rushing tide. "Lord Aether has awoken."

A herald, donned in garishly bright colors, still young in face and soul, bolted out of the crowd. He came to a halt before Nico and knelt, bowing his head in a respectful salute. In his right hand, there was a standard of Ordis, and in the other, a trumpet hung loosely from his fingertips.

"Lord Aether, the High Council respectfully requests your presence before the Council immediately. I am to bring you there."

Nico cocked his head to the side. He was tired, he was extremely unstable, and he was about to punch something. He wanted to go see Nyx. He wanted to separate the truths from the lies. He did not want to have to put up with the machinations of the Council and watch as they try to turn him into a puppet.

"Herald," he said. "The Council can go fuck itself."

The crowd gasped at his vulgar language. Nico bared his teeth. They'd better get used to this new "Aether" soon.

"Take me to Nyx," he commanded, and the herald, cowed, scurried in front of him.

The tunnels twisted and turned; soon, the crowds were out of sight. Darkness stretched in diaphanous ways, all sharp edges and ridged sides, as though Nico could cut his finger on them if he wasn't careful.

The shadows were no longer his. They refused to respond. He could feel a connection, but it was so frail and weak on this dimension that it may as well be nonexistent.

Gradually, however, he began to recognize his surroundings. The passage was one he'd never had to take before, and had hoped he never would have to. The world was cast into darkness. The only thing he could see was the light at the end of the tunnel, outlining the bobbing motion of the herald's hat as he ran in the front.

Erebus was suddenly beside him, keeping pace with his long strides.

_"You will not like what you see,"_ he whispered. Nico's head snapped up.

"What do you mean?" he hissed back, as loud as he dared.

But Erebus had already faded to shadow and was torn apart by the darkness. He had never acted like this before, and Nico was beginning to doubt his own sanity. There was something about him that stirred every nervous instinct in his body.

Every instinct screamed at him to get away.

"We are heading into the long-term mental disability ward, herald. Surely, we are going the wrong way," said Nico, trying to stifle the premonition stirring in the deepest pit of his stomach.

The herald stopped. Nico had to use his newfound reflexes to avoid crashing into the young boy.

"I—I know," he stammered. "But we're here. Nyx is on the very end of the hall, the left door. If you'll… excuse me, my Lord, I have to go. The Council is waiting for me."

The boy disappeared as fast as he could. He probably didn't want to be around Nico any longer than he had to. The demigod didn't blame him.

Turning his back on the way he'd come, he faced the stainless steel corridors ahead. It resembled that of an air shaft. At set intervals, whitewashed doors were cut into the walls, and from behind them, Nico could hear sobbing, screaming, and a lot of cursing. At Order. At himself. At the world.

The last door on the left looked like any other, but dread made his body feel like lead.

_"You will not like what you see."_

Straightening his back, he kept his eyes forward. Thoughts —foreboding, blanched, distressed— raced in his mind, several thousands of possibilities surfacing, each one worse than the last. What if she was in a coma? What if she had been possessed, and it left her mind ruined?

_(what if she couldn't even recognize him)_

The door opened on his touch. The hinges were soundless.

Nyx was perched on the lumpy cot. She was swinging her legs, humming a short tune under her breath, staring at the empty walls. All furniture, except for the bed, had been removed.

That was the first sign that something was wrong.

The second was when she didn't even hear his approach, loud as it was. He'd never been able to sneak up on Nyx. He shouldn't be able to.

"Hello," she chirped, eerily blue eyes coming to fix on him. Her voice was uncommonly high, like that of a child's.

"Hello," he replied cautiously, taking a step forward. "Do you recognize me, Nyx?"

She scrunched up her face, scrutinizing him carefully. Nico felt his heart crack at her blank expression. It was as though Bianca had just woken one day and never even remembered who he was. Never remembered she had a brother.

"No…" she muttered, her voice briefly losing its pitch. She grabbed her head and shook it from side to side, her hair sticking up between her clenched fingertips. "Should I?"

Nico swallowed back the bile in his throat. "Yeah," he croaked. "You should."

Nyx's eyes unfocused, and she shrugged airily, sitting back onto the bed. She began to swing her legs, her heels hitting the steel side rails, clicking thinly. Her gaze was blank, and even though she was still facing Nico, he had the impression that she was looking straight through him.

"Wanna hear a story?" she asked.

No, Nico really didn't. He wanted to run. Preferably, somewhere far, far away, where he could bury himself and never come out.

But those voltaic blue eyes were pleading with him, and he couldn't say no. The whiteness hurt.

"Sure." He forced a smile, one so wide that his eyes closed. This way, she wouldn't see the pain. "What kind of story is it?"

Nyx frowned and tugged at the edges of her hair.

"Bad," she admitted, her eyes gleaming at the thought. Pearly white teeth grinned, and Nico managed a weak one back. Of course Nyx would be thrilled about that.

She cleared her throat and began, lilting and light, contrasting sharply with the ominous shivers running through her body.

"Once upon a time, there lived an old man who was very lonely. He lived in a log cabin, far, far away from everyone else. So he decided to make a puppet to keep him company. It took him a long time, because he was old, and it hurt his joints to move, but eventually he finished. The puppet's name was Zero.

"The funny thing is, the old man still wasn't satisfied. Zero wasn't alive, and he was still very lonely. So, he used an old ritual to summon Death, and traded his soul to her, as long as she would breathe life into Zero. She agreed, because she liked the puppet too.

"Zero was turned into a living boy. The old man was happy for a long time. But soon, two survivors from the fire of a nearby town fled into the woods. He found them lying there, half-dead and half-burnt, and from the goodness of his heart, took them into his own home. When they awoke, they couldn't remember their names, so he named the girl Arwen, because of her charm and beauty, and the boy Victor.

"They got along pretty bad, at first. Victor hated Zero, and Arwen hated both of them, 'cause they were boys. But they learned to get along after the old man died one day, with a smile on his face. He didn't die alone, and for that, he was happy. The three of them grew closer than blood, though they still had their occasional quarrels with each other.

"Zero, Victor, and Arwen became infamous. They were talented. They were blessed, touched by an angel, some said. And the government wanted them, 'cause the government was greedy and mean and bad. Victor was actually the first to be forced in, and Zero followed in an attempt to free Victor, and finally Arwen came too.

"They hated the government, even though they didn't realize their own oppression until it was too late. And the feelings grew. One day, they found out lots of dirty secrets about th' government, and when they found out, they wanted to kill the three. Zero told the other two to go without him, so that he could hold them off and the other two would be saved.

"And the government caught him first. They chopped off Zero's nose, 'cause they said he told nothing lies, and his blood was nothing but filth. And then they burned him to itty bitty pieces. They liked his screams.

"Then they got Victor and Arwen. They tried to tell the other people, the citizens, but they wouldn't listen. They would rather live in their own blind, delusional little world. Eventually, the government caught up, and they were killed too. Victor was dissected alive by the scientists, because they wanted to know what made him tick. They made Arwen watch, and laughed while she screamed and cursed them to the pits of hell. Then, they beheaded her, too, because the government liked to kill people."

Nyx paused.

"The end."

Nico didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Zero, Victor, Arwen… the government… he had the impression that he'd heard this tale before, but with different names. Different beginnings—same ends.

"Where'd you hear this from?" he asked Nyx. Nyx stuck out her tongue. For a moment, her eyes cleared, and it was as though she was going to actually reply to Nico's question, but a barrier suddenly slammed and she only shrugged, confused.

"The birdies told me. _Duh."_

The air was stifling. Nico felt as though he'd just breathed poison.

"I need to go," he said in a rush, and pulled the door open, slamming it shut behind him. Nyx's cheerful farewell rang in his ears as he bolted down the corridors until the walls and doors blended into one giant white-grey pattern.

Zero. Victor. Arwen.

Zero—created from nothing, could create nothing but destruction. They didn't believe him when he tried to reveal the true nature of the government. They said he lied. They killed him.

Victor—victory. Victory for the people. He hated Zero. Blamed him for the destruction of his home. The government thought him inhuman, incapable of emotion, incapable of anything but Hate.

Arwen—muse. The Nine Muses of Greek mythology. She died last. She cried over Victor's corpse, before the government killed her off as well. She swore revenge. She swore to kill the one responsible.

Percy. Nico. Thalia.

Luke was the old man. The antihero.

The government. The antagonists of Nyx's little bedtime story.

The gods. Or maybe, it was the Titans. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell the difference between the two. Maybe it was because there was no difference. Their morals, their values, it was only a mirror image of each other, told from between different mouths, seen from different eyes.

A sudden revelation punched Nico in the gut. He doubled over in pain and shock, gasping and trying to clear the stars from his eyes.

_"—Death told me you were gone, both of you. She said you were poisoned, but now you're here, and this shouldn't be possible—"_

Thanatos.

He'd known. He'd known since the beginning.

_"—with great power—"_

Who else had access to such information? How much of his life was on display? How many of his secrets, the ones he held closest to his black heart, were thrown to the public like bones to dogs?

"Thinking doesn't suit you."

Nico jolted in alarm, his head shooting up to see golden eyes. For a deluded second, he had the impression that he was staring at Kronos, who was grinning wryly at him. They both had the same blonde hair _(Luke's)_ and molten halcyon eyes.

Chronus was steadying him, one hand wrapped around his forearm. Nico had begun to lurch forward.

The sounds of cutlery clattering against plates emanated from the door of the Great Hall. Unwittingly, his feet had carried him here. To somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe.

"Are you alright? I heard the news that you woke up." His face darkened, and, quickly looking over his shoulder on both sides, he dragged Nico into an alcove. "Listen," he whispered, leaning close to Nico, warning in his eyes, "you're next in line. For the throne, I mean. Nyx is…"

"Incapacitated," Nico interrupted sharply. Chronus gave him a strange look, but didn't argue.

"Yes… _incapacitated._ And Order is in an even worse condition. You're the only one that can take control, and the High Council knows this as well. You're going to have to watch your back. They'll call you to a meeting, no doubt, and they'll try to blackmail you. Half the battle—more than that, actually—is picking out the truths from the lies."

Was this how it felt to shoulder the world? To be Atlas?

Nico remembered the hunger in his father's eyes, as he talked about how he would make Nico into the child of the Prophecy. This was how Percy felt, every day, while Nico mocked and scorned his happy-go-lucky attitude, mistakenly thinking that it was his arrogance showing through and that he didn't care. Was it because the weight of the world would crush him if he didn't?

Suddenly, the idea of keeping a smile on his face seemed so much harder. Nico squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm not Percy," he muttered under his breath. "I can't do this."

Somehow, Chronus heard him. "You'll have to." He grasped Nico's shoulders, tightly, before letting go and stepping out of the alcove. "Remember what I've said. I have a feeling you'll need it soon."

They stepped into the Great Hall.

Three empty seats.

Silence.

Nico raised his chin defiantly and scowled.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded, then shook off the hands that tried to help him —as if he were some frail old man— to his seat. A Council member tried to stop him, a fake, snake-like smile on his wrinkled face, but Nico shoved him aside.

"I will be taking my customary place," Nico declared. He gave Order's throne a cursory glance. "And that will be all. I _thank_ you."

He picked up his knife and fork, and glared at his plate.

Slowly, conversations started up again, though they sounded forced, and he could feel many eyes glancing his way. They bore into his back. Some confused, some curious, some absolutely frothing at the mouth—the Council, most likely.

"They'll be after your blood soon, Nico. Best be prepared."

Erebus had drawn up a chair. A goblet of red wine (bitter in taste, no doubt) lay between his hands. No one had seen him come, and Nico knew that no one would see him go.

"How… ?"

His tongue flicked between his teeth and he winked, as if to say_ "that's for me to know and you to find out."_

When Nico blinked, only an empty chair gaped back at him.

Shaking his head, he set down to his meal. The cuisine was… interesting. It was nothing like Earth food, but the Aether part of Nico was accustomed to the fare, and he managed to keep it down. Eyes bore into his back, scrutinizing his every move.

Still, as he slowly sipped a bit of his water, he couldn't help but feel as though everything tasted of bitter almonds.

_(the taste of cyanide)_

* * *

><p>In a whitewashed room, hidden beneath the bowels of the earth, Nyx hummed a lively tune. A sudden thought made itself known in her head, and she pursed her lips. The boy with the white hair and dark eyes and painful expressions. He'd never gotten to know the truth, which was a shame.<p>

"Silly boy," she mused to herself. "He left too early. Never got to hear the ending. Did he really think that it was the end of the story, like it was going to be so simple?"

Nyx paused, cocking her head to one side, as though listening to a voice only she could hear. She nodded to it in agreement, eyes unfocused.

"Don't worry, Zero, I believe you. You're right; it's only the beginning. The worse is yet to come."

* * *

><p><em>-X-<br>(Percy)_

* * *

><p><em> "Welcome to the Vault of Ashes. Please leave your shoes and sanity at the door."<em>

* * *

><p>because he awoke in stone and there was<p>

nothing else but the cold and silence  
>biting into his bones<p>

tearing-slashing-hacking

* * *

><p><em>"The darkness asks for my name."<em>

* * *

><p>he was no one<p>

unwanted-alone-hated

they abandoned him to die  
>to rot<br>as if

he never existed

or maybe to them  
>he never did<p>

* * *

><p><em>"That is a difficult question to answer. I am afraid I cannot say. It's hard to tell others something that you do not know yourself."<em>

* * *

><p>questions<br>floating questions  
>gossamer words<br>always unanswered

yet he knows the truth  
>bitterly<p>

deep in his heart

encased in stone

* * *

><p><em>"It does not matter if a tool is blunted, as long as it's still able to be used. I am the living example of your corruption."<em>

* * *

><p>they left him<br>like everyone else has

one way or another  
>he is alone<p>

forevermore  
>always<br>to the end

there is nothing left  
>to hold on to sanity for<p>

and that was the first time

he heard the  
>voices calling<p>

to him

* * *

><p><em>"There's something wrong with me. I hear them. The voices whisper words in my ears. I am their messenger."<em>

* * *

><p>everything.<p>

silver-empty-hopeless  
>deceiving<p>

he was no one  
>it consumes him<br>breaking pieces off

slowly

painstakingly slowly

* * *

><p><em>"Destruction comes for you now. Even here, where you think is safe, I hear them calling for blood. Your blood."<em>

* * *

><p>just let it end<p>

but it doesn't  
>life keeps<br>dragging on

resilient

disjunct

torturous minutes  
>slaving hours<p>

until he remembers naught  
>he has no name<p>

nothing else exists in obscurity

* * *

><p><em>"Or maybe I am going insane. Maybe this series of unfortunate events, this macabre blackness that engulfs me whole, has finally sent me over the brink. Truthfully, I am surprised I held out this long."<em>

* * *

><p>the black is disrupted<p>

light  
>painfully bright<br>streaking-searing-burning

into his eyes

he screams  
>but it makes no sound<p>

hands

smelling of the sea  
>ravaging, untamed<p>

they grip his arms

gently

as if he would break  
>into a thousand shimmering pieces<br>and scatter to the winds

more than he already has

* * *

><p><em>"It's funny how underestimated Hope is. You never truly understand what you've lost until it's gone."<em>

* * *

><p>he's lost<br>in more ways than one

his mind

can't put things together

what is real  
>what is not<p>

torturous  
>agony<p>

everything is gone

* * *

><p><em>"Now, I feel nothing. An empty void has opened inside of me."<em>

* * *

><p>gone-deprived-destroyed<p>

a voice speaks  
>gargled words<br>pitifully weak

is it his own?

begging for death  
>for it to end<p>

pathetic

* * *

><p><em>"Sanity, in this place, is scarce. Mine has run out. These will be my last words to you. I pray that you will never see me in such a state."<em>

* * *

><p>blackness encroaches<br>listless darkness  
>pulling him<br>underneath the surface

silver lights

suffocating

drowning

pieces of a crystalline heart  
>shatters<p>

ashes  
>pain…<p>

oblivion.

* * *

><p><em>"I cannot tell how much time has passed before the gates to my prison cracks open. It seems to be eternity."<em>

* * *

><p>cold light<br>silver streaks  
>black cloak<p>

she speaks  
>but meaningless promises<p>

her words mean nothing

poison

* * *

><p><em>"Figures, distorted fragments, sweep past my eyes, and I know I should recognize them. But I don't. One reaches out. The other just cries. They promise me to stay. Meaningless words —I know they won't. Soon, they will have to run."<em>

* * *

><p><em>she<em> returns  
>again and again<br>never leaving

breaking the peaceful  
>silence<p>

listless lethargies

she loves the sound  
>of her own voice<br>for surely she knows  
>he cannot speak<p>

cannot reciprocate

* * *

><p><em>"But they return. The next time, someone comes with them. Whispering. She steps forward. Stone eyes stare back."<em>

* * *

><p>she sits next to him<br>tells him stories

familiar  
>out of reach<p>

memories

obliterated by darkness

golden bolts  
>lightning fleeces<br>shattering cadences  
>labyrinths<p>

the end of all.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_'It's time to live,' she tells me. I think she does. The sounds are a chaotic blur. There is an odd pulsing in my head. In my heart—if I still have one._"

* * *

><p>the stories<p>

are muddled  
>confused<p>

who was he?

he remembers nothing

she speaks to him still  
>worried eyes<br>reflecting from her

scythe

humpty dumpty  
>breaks<br>a silent scream for help  
>and none can save-heal-rescue<p>

put him back together

* * *

><p><em>"She presses her lips against mine. It is cold. I feel so cold."<em>

* * *

><p>arms<p>

vice like

wraith like

arms

he is light  
>too light<p>

like a frightful child

the woman and the man  
><em>-Death is gone-<em>  
>carries him between them<p>

Underworld's river  
>hopeless<br>lost dreams  
>lost hopes<p>

he asks them again, who _is_ he?

sad eyes

she tells him he will remember  
>will feel again.<br>her hands let go

and he falls

* * *

><p><em>"The last link breaks. Stone melts. A scythe clatters to the ground."<em>

* * *

><p>drowning<p>

bubbles

iridescent bubbles break through  
>the murk of the water<br>of the darkness  
>tearing him away<p>

piece by piece

little pieces

what is left

consumed

his mind hurts-hurts-hurts  
>breaking open<br>barriers shattering

scars

battle scars re-emerging  
>red eyes<br>cold heart  
>buried secrets<p>

reflection

he does not recognize himself

it does not  
>seem right somehow<p>

but he is missing-hurting-lacking

it is his now  
>and always will be<p>

* * *

><p><em>"There is only marble, cold to touch. A small smile is still frozen on her face. I can't feel anything except a raw numbness, but I know I should… I think I'm screaming on the inside, a bellowing crescendo that only I can hear."<em>

* * *

><p>sacrifice<p>

raw pain  
>chokes him, burning<p>

memories throttle

and he screams  
>first time in what seems like<p>

eons.

then it is gone

he feels  
>complete<p>

still pained

broken beyond

recognition

it will always be there,  
>that part of him.<p>

but he will

protect himself from

others,

from his own ravaged mind.

* * *

><p><em>"The Vault collapses. I take the other two of them away, into the infinite darkness. Through the spaces. Eyes stare back from the cracks, hungry, waiting for a calculation slip that will send us tumbling through the dimensions forever. Time is ashen here. Then, there is water, dragging downwards in a spiralling cloud of bubbles."<em>

* * *

><p>he is no longer<p>

trusting  
>encased in a layer of stone once more<br>he is

reborn anew

and blue-eyes smiles  
>she knows<br>taking his hand  
>hers surprisingly warm<p>

gentle but never weak

battle hardened

and they are gone  
>from the bitter-devastating-cruel world<p>

they tell him  
><em>it will be alright<em>

somehow, he doesn't believe it.

* * *

><p><em>"The land beyond the gods. The land of nightmares. It seems fitting, but I can't bring myself to care. There is something missing. Someone has clawed out my heart."<em>

* * *

><p>he is alone<br>he can't remember exactly

what has happened.

only that he is in a new dimension  
>a new chance<p>

but the hate lingers

burning, all consuming  
>hatred<p>

* * *

><p><em>"But I will survive. And be it a day from now, millennia, or eons… it does not matter. I am patient. And I have never been very forgiving."<em>

* * *

><p>he heals<br>stronger than before  
>he will be reborn through the ashes<p>

they will fear him

his name

the jar rattles, warm  
>it feels familiar<p>

fiery hands close over his.

* * *

><p><em>"—I will kill you for what you have done to me. To us.<em>_"_

* * *

><p>he stares into the water<br>reflecting back his image

wavering eyes.

the origin of the river  
>of the river Styx<br>one last swim  
>to cement his hold on this dimension.<p>

vulnerable

gritting his teeth  
>he lets go<p>

and falls once more

Hope dies with him

* * *

><p><em>"Once, you knew me as the hero. The betrayer, perhaps. But no longer."<em>

* * *

><p>memories of his training<br>disappear,

but his body remembers though his mind  
>is wiped clean.<p>

Void's doing

And Death smiles at him  
>though she has gone in his stead<br>her scythe a symbol of her trust

he knows  
>he will do anything<p>

for her.

* * *

><p><em>"The voices I hear… they are coming for you. And so am I. Beware of the shadows. This is your only warning."<em>

* * *

><p>he is justice<br>and mercy

vengeful

but not cruel.

and he knows he will be great one day

they will remember  
>him as the hero instead of the<p>

villain

* * *

><p><em>"Can you hear the ticks of your heart calling to me, of the clock that slowly counts down to your demise? It pounds in my head, to the beat of my sword slicing through your throat. I taste it on my tongue. The ashes."<em>

* * *

><p>and the world will burn in his wrath.<br>nothing will remain

but the ashes

and they too will crumble  
>in the onslaught of time<p>

for nothing is  
>perfect<p>

is forever

and while the gods believe  
>they are the epitome<p>

the exception

they are not and never will be

* * *

><p><em>"Brace yourselves. There is no going back, no atonement. For I am your judge, jury, and executioner. This is the Hell that I will create for you."<em>

* * *

><p>he was reborn into ice<br>his heart

hardened

and his secrets  
>only Tartarus knows.<p>

for Percy learns

quickly,  
>that dead men<p>

tell

no lies.

* * *

><p><em>"My name is Percy. Remember it well."<em>


	19. Archfiend (Malignance)

**Author's Note — **Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano. Even though her initials spell "RARA," it was not as bad as I had anticipated. I have to say, though, her surname was the only reason I was looking forward to House of Hades. Percy and Nico clarification—bromance only. I feel I must make this clear, after Nico's confession. They _are_ related by Primordial blood, after all.

Slight horror element. Be warned. Next chapter, they shall reach Earth, and the fun mess that are the gods shall commence.

To anyone that has read the original (I truly am sorry that you had to put up my horrible storytelling back then) this is where Blackened Dawn crosses paths.

**Antagonists—**who, really, is the antagonist in Blackened Dawn? Ah, yes, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies — percy zoe and artemis fan<strong> - thank you. **JosephineSilver** - never forget to activate iCloud. Your computer doesn't seem to like you very much. Don't worry, mine doesn't either. I agree about writing a sequel, but then again, who knows? I do have the ending planned out, and it's not going to be expected… (; **Guest** - there's a reason it's left to ambiguity. You can believe it either way, because the way it's described is vague enough. **Red Lightning Bolt** - thank you! :) **Menaphite** - don't worry, it was just a one-time thing, two years and all that. Most chapters will range from 12k-15k. I feel for you. I hope you've been able to catch up on sleep during the long weekend. And I'm honored :) Order… well, he's just… Order. He believes that what he's doing is for the "Greater Good," like you have mentioned. Then again, don't all villains have the notion that they're actually the hero? **Username1576** - thank you! I'm glad you liked it. **The Nutty Squirrel** - I hope the PM cleared up your questions. If not, don't hesitate to leave a message. **Bright Yellow Angel Halo -** there will be a light glossing over of everything that's happened with Percy in one of the upcoming chapters. In the meantime, is there anything in particular that is confusing for you? prince of the seas - thank you. **Harmonic Bunny** - thank you! You do have everything correct, actually. And I wish that would happen, but alas, maybe sometime in the future ;) **NegatortheBalance** - Nyx is not in her right state of mind. I'm glad you liked the twist, and I hope this chapter does not disappoint! **Leftover Meal** - yes, Percy is still that stone thing. Does he become more powerful? In some sense of the word, yes, he has, but he will not be overpowered. He is "bound," like how Void/Lacrimosa was bound by the "chains," Percy's is the collar (Zeus' Master Bolt). Order's condition will be explained. **RxR4ever** - I'm not sure if Mythomagic actually existed in Nico's age, but for the sake of AUs, let's pretend it is ;) The reason so many people aren't certain of what's going on is because the story's not being told in order—it's being told as Percy discovers it. However, like any circle, it's going to come together perfectly, and everything will finally make sense. You're correct, "Erebus" is not Percy. His identity has been hinted about, but it will be revealed in this chapter, and things will finally start moving!** Saphira-bellacqua** - hello! I see you've gotten an account :) A piece of Aether/Nyx was broken off and they became Nico/Thalia. After killing Ananke, Order uses her soul to call forth νερό/older-Pontus. That is correct. Don't worry about the last part of the previous chapter too much—it was foreshadowing of future events. It depicted Percy in the Vault of Ashes. And I will continue this, do not worry! **StormOfNight** - Void locked Percy in the Vault of Ashes to replace him, but Percy does eventually escape. **Xuan Tian Shang Di** - well, I'm _very_ glad you liked it! :) Jaded vinegar linkages? Oh, that gave me a much needed laugh. And thanks for the heads-up, I've changed it now. **Clefspear** - is there something in particular that wasn't clear enough? Don't hesitate to tell me or to send a PM! **StarStryker97** - thank you! Actually, I meant to ask you this some time ago—how are your stories coming along? **Guest** - thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. **Intellectually** - ah, virtual cookies. I may have to take you up on that offer ;) I'm not so fond of math and calculus, either. Regarding the Olympians' alliances—well, Zeus, Athena, and Hades are currently in Tartarus. The others have been rallying whatever forces are available to them, lead by Poseidon. This will eventually include Percy, Nico, and Thalia, but they will by no means go peacefully. There will be no Chaos saying, "I command you to go" and no Percy going, "grrr fine," like they do in the cliches. And don't worry, I promise that I shall get to them soon, as soon as time relinquishes its death grip on me. **foreverawildandbeautifulmess** - I know, I know! I'll get to it, I promise I shall! Just a quick note, though: the scenes with Nico's childhood are slightly altered to include information that was not actually mentioned in canon. **Jackarall** - I'm very happy you like it! Don't worry about the ambiguity—it's intended, because the story is not being told in chronological order. Percy's life as Erebus is not explained in full detail. It will be at the end. I intend on wrapping up all loose ends. No cliffhangers :) **aesir21** - nope, no sequel just yet. There is still some of the middle, a touch of the future, and the full, unedited past to go through. **SteveHas4fingers** - indeed. iOS7, ha! **FrozenKeyLD** - you got it. That is what shall happen, and its consequences will lead to their escapades on earth. **Kampe** - thank you! I'm thrilled that you like the story and where it's heading. I can only hope that this chapter does not disappoint. **Olympusseriesisawesome** - the first part of last chapter (the one before the actual chapter title) is something of a dream sequence. It is a link to Nico's past—he and Thalia died by cyanide poisoning. Aether does not actually drink poison, so he isn't affected by it. However, you are correct. He has basic training in poisons and antidotes, but it's not his thing to be paranoid. P.S. all but two of the runes are real. When the chapter title says "Rune for," it means that the rune actually exists. When it is "Percy's rune for," it is made up. The runes are Norse Elder Futhark runic symbols. Each rune stands for a different letter.

* * *

><p>-<em>X<em>-

* * *

><p>"Look into my eyes and you shall see the demons you tried to pretend didn't exist."<p>

–Percy

**Chapter III  
><strong>**_Archfiend_**

ɬɮ

_Percy's rune for malignance, arcanum, antithesis._

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><p><em>The dimension of Ordis is split into five circular layers. The Five Factions.<em>

_The First Faction is the castle of Ordis, home to merchants and nobility, along with the militia. The Second is for the artisans and tradesmen, valued for their delicate skill-sets. The Third comprises of farmers and foresters, ones who work with nature to create balance and life. The Fourth is considerably worse off than the previous three, but is still many times better than the Fifth. The academies and several prestigious associations are located here, despite the conditions, to match with tradition._

_The Fifth are the slums._

_They are everything the nobility does not wish to see. Here, disappearances (kidnappings) are frequent, and are not investigated, in comparison to the disappearances from the First faction, in which there is no rest until a perpetrator has been found._

_Many speculate that there is a reason to these Fifth Faction disappearances, but the ideas civilians come up with are ludicrous. Some say they hear screams, far into the night, coming from deep underground, but nothing is ever seen or proven._

—Hesiod; Theogony

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><p><em>-X-<em>

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><p>The serenity of the next morning was broken by two figures trundling along a well worn path, pulling a wheelbarrow of dirty straw.<p>

"—swear this shit gets heavia' each day, ya know?"

There was a rough grunt. The second civilian lowered the handlebars to the ground, back arching like that of an arthritis-ridden cat, grimacing as his joints cracked.

"Yeah, well, it's not like we can afford to do anything else. S' all that trouble down in the thrice accursed castle. The damn—"

The first rapidly silenced the second, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder.

"—shh, _he_ migh be lis'nin. They say he's ev'rywhere, like a ghost. Ya don wanna be executed, just cause ya can't keep yer mouth shut, does ya? Heard they were related, _ah_ heard. Chaos' bastard child, he is, the lot of them are."

"Hah! 'S not like they'll hear us in the middle of nowhere. This is the Fifth faction, the outermost ring of Ordis, so that the rich people won't have to smell the stink, they say. Faugh!" He spat to the side, an oath on his lips, fire in his heart. "Like we wanted to rub elbows with such prissy-minded people in the first place. Good thing fer that rebellion that's rising, I say. Get rid of them all."

Shivers. The first stuck his pitchfork into the pile of hay, the hilt end quivering with force. He crossed his arms defensively and turned to the second.

"Seen them _once_, ah have, and t'was once more than ah needed. Frightn'in lot, that one. Freeze yer blood from yer bones. Havn't seen 'im in a while, now, nor heard anythin' from that cursed castle of theirs. Rumor has some pretty nasty stuff, 'bout what happ'ned to 'im. Erebus, I mean. Tha's who ah was talkin about. Speculations, the like."

"And good riddance, _I_ say! I always thought there was some sort of suspicious—"

A flash of blue steel, a voice silenced. The sound of metal tearing through clothing embedded itself into the wall. Greedy and biting—the North wind, laced with an edge of cold.

"I assure you, it is not," a familiar voice growled, acid dripping with every syllable.

Stuttering. The thuds of people falling to their knees, trembling.

"My… My Lor'!" the first stammered. "What're ya doin' here, f'all places! We, ah, we were…"

The third cut in again, sharp and regal, not at all fitting the character he was rumored to be. "—don't bother coming up with an excuse. I heard it all. But when _he_ gets back, you can be assured that he will deal with you, and so will I." A short pause. "As for _my_ purpose here, I have been inspecting the guard posts. Imagine my displeasure at seeing a bunch of… _civilians,"_ the word was sour, as though the speaker could think of worse titles, "heading into an alleyway, not even bothering to keep their mouths shut."

A frown, revealing yellowing teeth.

"Lor'? Ya conk your head or summat? Erebus? Yeah, that's who you're talkin 'bout? Yeah. Well. He's dead."

In a sudden hiss of shadow, a figure stepped out of the obscure darkness. Pale green eyes glanced at Nico quietly, a cat-like tread softening his steps forward. He was paler than the last time he had seen him, an unhealthy pallid shade. "I have told you, Aether. They cannot see me unless I wish them to."

Erebus was only two feet away from the two civilians, looming over their hunched forms, but they didn't even seem to realize that there was someone close enough to snap both of their necks without blinking an eye. It lent credence to the fact that either there was something seriously wrong with the two of them, or Aether was dropped on his head too much as a baby and Nico was hallucinating.

"If you're so sure, then how did Erebus die?" Nico asked the civilians cautiously, swallowing back the acerbic words stinging his throat, ignoring Erebus' piercing, warning gaze.

"Uhh…" the first civilian mused for a few moments, "shouldn't ya know this stuff 'nd all? Well, Erebus got himself thrown inta jail. Gossip's been sayin tha t'was Order himself that gave the order to get him ex'cuted. There was an 'mergency meetin for the Councilmembers a while back, and when they came ou' again, they were all disorientated and the like. So summat musta happened. A lotta people are thinkin' tha Erebus' been thro—"

His eyes bulged; abruptly, he clawed at his throat, wheezing and making inarticulate noises. There was a struggle, but from the way his eyes flitted from one side to the other, he did not see his attacker until there was a large, sickly snap.

His neck bent at an unnatural angle, parallel to the ground.

Life fled his eyes.

Something pale, luminescent, dissipated into the air. Erebus dropped the corpse and caught it in one gloved hand, examined it for a brief moment, then closed his fist over the orb, crushing it to dust. There was a faint glow, and when Nico blinked, some of the color seemed to have returned to his face.

The taste of darkness, of nothingness filled the air, before it was absorbed once again. Wiping his mouth, he stepped backwards, dusting off his hands.

A lopsided grin.

Erebus looked healthier than before. Less like death warmed over.

"Do not worry. It was necessary."

Nico stared incomprehensibly at the two bodies. The whites of their eyes were showing. Aether stirred in denial, deep inside.

_'Erebus would never do this. He is not so needlessly brutal—it is above him. Whatever his imprisonment did…'_

"Necessary for what?" he blurted out.

An edge entered Erebus' voice, and there was a tone of finality about it that made Nico's mouth snap shut. "You would not understand, Aether. Do not trouble yourself over it."

Black eyes narrowed. "Erebus… what are you not telling me?"

A hidden, almost soft smile. "Many things," he retorted. "We all have our skeletons. Mine are simply… more prominent than others. More dangerous. There is a very fine line between the two."

Nico shut his eyes and drew in a slow breath. He disliked these mind games—there was no way he could win on Erebus' territory. He'd always been fond of twisting his words until Nico didn't even know what he was saying, let alone try and piece together a coherent retort.

"Just… just leave me alone for a bit, could you?" he said tiredly, keeping his gaze pinned to the two bodies. Already, flies were beginning to buzz around them. He would have to get rid of the corpses soon, before the smell attracted unwanted guests.

Erebus gave him a shadowed look, but nodded.

"Very well."

—and he was gone before Nico could even open his mouth.

Vaguely, the demigod wondered how he'd gotten himself into this situation. One would have thought that death was the final end, the final peace, well, unless you got stuck in the Fields of Punishment or something.

Heck, _Nico_ had thought so too. If anyone had told him he would be stuck in this position even a scarce month back, he would have laughed in their face and sent them to the nearest asylum.

Of course, now, he'd be hard pressed to disagree when he was in an empty alleyway with a stack of dirty hay, two rotting bodies, and more questions than he knew what to do with.

Death always hated him more than Life did.

_(who said second chances were always good things?)_

-o-

On the way back, it only took Nico a few minutes and countless numbers of turns to realize that the footsteps thudding quietly were not his own. The light, raspy breathing was not all in his head. He looked around, expecting Erebus, but the Primordial was nowhere to be seen. All he could see were the guards, standing stiffly at attention, halberds in hand, quite a distance away.

And of course, with his luck, it was several minutes too late, even if he could see the main entrance of Ordis' castle not far off in the distance. He wouldn't make it.

"I swear, whoever is stalking me at this moment, come out or I—"

He never finished the sentence.

A hand wrapped around his chest, crooking from the connection point between his shoulder and neck, pinning his arms to his side with a clever twist. The other compressed tightly over his eyes, until all he could see was the smooth yet pockmarked surface of leather gloves.

Conveniently, the guards' eyes were turned the other way. They bore the crest of the Council over their breasts, stark red in an undertone of bile-like yellow. Perhaps they were even put to this task. To eliminate him.

The long, curved edge of a knife touched the assailant's throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Aether was by no means weak, and neither was Nico. A red slit—a red smile. Perseus had given the knife to Aether, with the advice to watch his back before he was betrayed. By proxy, it was now Nico's.

…or, it was. The attacker disarmed him in less than a fraction of a second.

"Impressive," he murmured, spinning the bloody blade over one finger. "Very few have been able to draw blood from me. Consider it an accomplishment."

As he struggled against the ropes being wrapped with a practiced motion around his wrists, the hand over his eyes slipped lower to cover his mouth instead. Nico attempted to bite him. There was a hiss.

"Peace. I mean you no harm. I am on your side."

If Nico wasn't so busy getting free, he would have rolled his eyes. "Oh, really. And you're showing it so well," he said, voice thick with sarcasm, words muffled by the hand still over his mouth.

His attacker remained impassive. There was a familiar accent in his voice, in the way he moved and formed his words; a panther, ready to strike. "I mean you no harm," he repeated, still calm and collected, not a hair out of place while Nico was looking as though he'd just been run through a blender. Then again, there was not much of him to see—the only parts of his body visible were his hands, and only because they were physically restraining Nico, ghost-white in the dying light.

"Then free me and _fight like a man_," Nico challenged back.

_(Thalia would've killed him for that statement—after the Hunters were done spitting out his remains)_

"I think not," the figure murmured, amusement clear in his words, as if he could sense Nico's thoughts. "You understand, of course. It is not my own safety I am thinking about, but yours. I fear you will lose control of yourself when I reveal my identity to you, and it would hinder us both."

Such arrogance, spoken with such surety.

"I need nothing from the likes of _you_." Nico spat out the last word as though it was a contagious disease. As if he wished the stranger's eyes would rot in his head and the vultures picked the flesh clean from his bones.

A deep, dark chuckle.

A pale, long-fingered hand slipped out from the confines of the shadows, reaching up to slowly grasp at the soft fold of a hood. The light flickering of Nico's stolen knife cast enough illumination for him to recognize the figure.

Aether roared.

He saw red.

Nico threw himself forward, but the ropes nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets.

"I told you so," the stranger intoned, vindictive.

Nico's hands were tied, but he was by no means defenceless. Aether had equipped him well—he was a _commander_. Assassination attempts must have become a piece of cake after a while.

With a swift thrust of his leg, a hidden knife strapped to his calf snapped out. But his attacker didn't even twitch, even when it was accurate to catch the rest of his hood and rip it off.

He'd missed.

The cloak, broken by the force, fluttered to the ground by his feet. Threadbare edges quivered in the wind.

"_νερό_!" Aether spat, pushing Nico aside. "Free me—fight me!"

"Tempting. Alas, I cannot. We need to discuss matters. But not here. Not where it's so open."

"You… I'm not going anywhere with you. Where's Erebus? Where's Pontus? What the hell have you done with them?"

νερό's eyes darkened.

"That is exactly what I wish to talk to you about." His hand came to rest on Nico's elbow, giving a warning squeeze before dropping away. "So you can either follow me without drawing the guards on both of our heads, and you will find the answers. Or, you may take the difficult route and try to escape. I assure you, nothing good will come out of that option."

Nico stewed silently. Whoever νερό was, he had been able to defeat both Aether and Erebus in battle, even if the latter had not been at full power. And Nico was clumsy in this body. He could barely walk without tripping over his own feet, let alone fight. All νερό had to do was push him over and stab him with his own sword, and he wouldn't be able to stop him. No, if he truly wanted Nico dead, he would already be.

"The guards wouldn't go after me, but you," he tried to bluff, trying to put up a mask of indifferent arrogance, but it quickly fell apart when νερό snorted in disdain.

"Your lie is written all over your face. We both know that the Council is keeping an eye on you, after your little stunt in the Hall yesterday. Denying their offer. You have humiliated them. They will not forget your blight upon their reputation. The guards have orders to take you out, should the need and opportunity arise."

"I feel you agree. They can try, if they want."

"The littlest of enemies can wear down a great foe."

"Well, I'm not your normal foe, then. I don't care about anything you have to say. You're going to kill me as soon as I'm alone with you. Or, you'll try to twist the answers to manipulate me onto your side. Coincidentally, you're also not the first that has tried."

"An eloquently thought-out answer," νερό said, smiling. "But I shall swear on the Voi—on the Vault, that I shall not harm you, directly or indirectly, upon this day, nor will I tell any lies. I am not preparing an ambush. There is no deception."

"Or half truths," Nico added.

"Or half truths," he confirmed.

The earth shook—a pact was formed.

Nico leaned backwards in contemplation.

"Why did you swear by the Vault?"

Pause. Nico counted to seven before νερό licked his lips and spoke.

"I beg your pardon?"

Something obscure niggled at the edges of Nico's memory. He couldn't draw it to light, but the suspicion wouldn't go away, either.

"It's common practice to swear by the Voi—"

"Do _not_ say His name!" νερό snapped sharply. Nico gave him a scrutinizing look, one of suspicion.

"—fine. It's common practice to swear by the _entity-of-nothing,_ or even by Chaos. Why the Vault? It's only a child's fairy-tale."

νερό's face grew consistently darker. He seemed to bite his tongue.

"If I swore by the… by _Him_, we would have been discovered. And the Vault is more tangible than you would realize."

"Discovered? What? I don't understand. By whom?"

"By the "entity of nothing" as you so eloquently put it, of course. The Infernal. There is a taboo on the name. For now, that is… that is irrelevant, and we will be overheard. If you wish to know more, we will need to move to an uncompromised location."

Nico bit his lip silently.

It was a tempting offer. Part of him, the rational side, told him that it was a trap he was walking into. But the other side, the part desperate for answers, for the fragmented world to make sense, was hesitant to reject the proposition.

Steeling his nerves and drawing on Aether's brash bravery, he closed his eyes and said, "I know I'm going to regret this, but I'll come with you. Just this once."

There was an odd expression on νερό's face. It took Nico a few seconds to realize that it was a smile. The expression did not look natural on his face, and it pulled sickeningly on the corners of his mouth, even though his eyes remained cold.

He snapped his fingers. Nico's bonds withered away, the ends burning up with a dark fire that smelled of Tartarus.

_(wouldn't the world be better if people looked the way they were on the inside?)_

"Good. Then come." Turning around, he walked several steps, before tilting his head over his shoulder when he noticed that the demigod was still rooted to his original spot, calling back, "Well, are you not coming?"

Nico took a step forward on leaden feet. He gingerly rubbed the chafe marks on his wrists, a stinging red on tanned skin.

"Oh, I had almost forgotten. Catch."

A silver knife hissed through the air. Instinctively, Nico plucked it out of the air, too surprised to answer.

It was a show of great trust—a great risk. Nico could easily stab him now, while his back was turned. He did not forget what νερό had done, despite what Aether thought. He was not stupid, nor forgetful.

_Children of Hades hold grudges, _Bianca had once said.

But it had cost him his happiness, even though he had not realized until it was too late. How many times had be rebuffed Percy with his cold and sullen exterior? How many times had be secretly longed for human company but could never relinquish his stubborn pride to do so?

He regretted it. And he may very well regret this decision as well.

It was a bold gamble to make. But he couldn't be delusional enough to depend only on Order, to believe that everything he said was law, like Aether had done. Perhaps there really was some matter of great importance that νερό needed to discuss with him. Perhaps he really wasn't lying.

Aether growled in disapproval. Nico could feel him stirring in the depths of his mind, his displeasure a sharp pin-prick on his subconscious.

_'You are acting rashly.'_

Nico pushed Aether's conscience away and took to the rooftops to keep up with the rapidly disappearing figure, his head high, fists clenched, teeth gritted in anticipation of an attack.

Several times, he almost lost track of νερό's black cloak, fluttering in the wind. He moved like a shadow; here one moment and gone the next.

_(like Erebus)_

Growling, he leaped from the edge and into a side alley. His bent knees absorbed the impact, and he hit the ground running.

Weaving through the crowds of civilians beginning to waken in dawn's morning light, setting out their wares and beginning to call cheerfully to each other in their buzzing voices, Nico ducked under a low hanging curtain, threadbare triangular threads quivering in the breeze.

—and νερό was nowhere to be seen.

His heart dropped into his stomach. The sound of knives scraping against stone. Laughter.

_'I told you so.'_

In a single smooth motion, for the second time that day, hands burst out of the curtain behind him, restraining him before he could strike, one dragging over his eyes. Nico stumbled—he was being pulled the way he had come.

Then, darkness. It pressed in on all sides.

_(suffocating)_

The hands released him. Cat-green eyes glittered. They were the only source of light.

Nico squinted his eyes into slits. While he had had quite impressive night vision before he had "become" Aether, now, it was absolutely deplorable. It was just a blur of black that shivered by his irises, and Nico thought that this must be how normal people see the darkness, instead of that crystal clarity he had become accustomed to.

A match struck.

"We should be safe in here," νερό muttered. It was barely audible.

They were in some sort of hidden tunnel. Upon closer inspection, Nico could see νερό standing directly opposite him. He was leaning on his left knee, one arm carelessly supported against it, foot propped against an inclination of stones.

The entrance was cleverly disguised. It was the gap between two of the dilapidated shacks; the construction workers had left a relatively large space between, and someone had dug out a room-like tunnel, disguising the entrance with a stack of hay. Considering that the thing smelled like fifty-year old manure, no one wanted to touch it.

"Did you have to do that?" he winced, cracking his neck to the side, trying to work out the kinks. "It was not a pleasant experience, I assure you." A short pause. "Who are you, anyways?"

νερό did not smile. His demeanor had changed, and there was no more sardonic humor in his tone when he spoke again.

"You know me as your uncle's advisor, I believe?" he said. Nico squinted his eyes and nodded slowly; in the faint light, he could barely see νερό level a piercing gaze at him. "Then you are sorely mistaken. My name is Pontus."

The Aether part of Nico laughed mockingly, startled, confused.

"Yeah, because you're able to shift your age from that of a young child into one in his prime? Because I'm this gullible. Yeah. Sorry, no. Try again."

νερό frowned. "It is outrageous, yes. I make no claims denying so. But even you should understand that it is often the most unbelievable stories that are the truth. I came from the future—well, I suppose it is an alternate dimension, actually, now that my presence has altered the flow of time."

This conversation was quickly spinning out of control. Aether had little to no knowledge of dimensions or time travel. Nico knew even less. It was a losing battle from the start.

"My name is Pontus," νερό repeated. "The older Pontus from a war-torn future you no longer know. I was summoned millennia ago."

"Millennia," Nico echoed, frowning. "I don't remember seeing you."

_(but that didn't mean anything in a world where even your thoughts weren't yours)_

"You would not have. I have remained in the shadows until a time where I was needed. It was Order who brought me here." Rapidly, his expression darkened. "And that is what we need to talk about."

Nico crossed his arms.

"What are you waiting for? Then speak."

A quiet, pregnant silence pervaded the atmosphere, dampening the mood with icy rivulets of dread.

"Perhaps a good place to start would be my… conception. You will not believe me, I know. I would not blame you.

"This is why I have brought you here. The Fifth faction; the slums. It's not as closely regulated as the First, or any of the other ones, really. No one would look too closely if there were disappearances, here and there. It is almost to be expected. The First faction does not care."

As νερό spoke, a dagger appeared in his hand. With a downwards slash, he cut his palm open, and blood dripped into the ground, stained black, black tar, thick and oozing. He pressed his palm to the wall, leaving a heavy impression.

"Because the disappearances are real."

There was an immediate reaction.

Lines of white light filtered from the streaks, slowly at first, but rapidly gained momentum. The intensity cast the entire tunnel into grimy, dirty shadow, and set hard angles against νερό's face.

A single rune glittered on the wall—the spider guarding a web of deception.

"Blood sacrifice," νερό explained, his expression tired, as if a bit of him had been sucked away. "Forbidden rune. It is called 'Archfiend,' in response to its malignant nature, especially to intruders. It was one of Perseus' designs. Only those with his blood shall be able to come through. I assume he didn't know what he created the rune for, or he would have refused to do so."

Perseus. Nico had to remind himself that they were talking about Aether's Percy, not the one he knew. Still, he did not miss the way νερό stressed '_his blood'_—as if he and Perseus were somehow related.

Erebus. Perseus. Yet another enigma. Somehow, he couldn't help but feel that the two of them were connected in some sinister way that he could not explain. A gut feeling.

A square hole, gaping in nature, crumbled from the earthen wall, creating a new passage. νερό turned back to Nico with an indescribable look.

"Well, are you coming?"

Without waiting for an answer, he ducked and disappeared through.

Nico was alone for a moment. He glanced to his left and right, at the cramped walls, before exhaling slowly, a sardonic smile twisting his lips.

"Abandon hope, ye who enter here."

Dante's Inferno. It had been a favorite quote of Bianca's. Oddly fitting, in these circumstances.

He stooped and stepped forward, ducking his head to avoid walking into the low threshold. Cobwebs stuck in his hair, dust raining down in a fine mist.

And for several staggered moments, there was nothing but black, black of the invasive kind. Nico had never felt so uncomfortable with darkness before. He had left the light of the world behind, and the farther down he went, the less comfortable he was.

Stairs. Old, worn, they cracked threateningly when Nico shifted his weight onto them. Putting one foot in front of the other, he was bolstered when it held underneath him, even though he could feel the mildewed wood slowly splintering, flakes of long fibers coming off in a fine dust.

He moved away quickly, before he could plunge to his death. Stones, dislodged by his blind stumbling clattered off the edge, hitting the ground far below.

_(dancing off skeletal remains)_

One of the steps was weakened with stress and time, and it fully collapsed when Nico stepped on it. He was sent sprawling forward, through tangled cobwebs that looked like they had been recently disturbed. Instinctively, his hand flung itself in front of his face. Dust flew into the air.

Something sticky clung to his fingers, smelling of stagnance. He probed his fingertips into the substance cautiously, raising it to his nose.

River water?

"Are you coming or not?" νερό's voice broke through the silence, harsh and biting. Nico scrambled to his feet and followed, wiping the dampness off as best he could.

The stairs ended abruptly. From the rickety seventy-degree angle they had descended from, it met the coarse ground of the tunnel. Nico had never been more glad to have his feet on solid ground, though that euphoria soon dissipated, faster than water in a desert.

This place. It reminded him of the Labyrinth. Same clawed tunnels, as though fingernails had been dug deep into the surface. The occasional skeleton—at one point, he even thought he saw one in an old, deteriorated milkman's uniform. It was too far gone to tell, and all that remained was the gruesomely grinning skull, the moth-bitten cap slipping over one side of the eerily tilted head.

Because the neck had been snapped through. It was barely sitting on the shoulders.

Someone had set it there, the remains of the spine arched in an inverted "u" towards the ground. Its fingers, even in death, were clenched, and its body was arched, as though it had died in great pain.

Nico hastened after νερό, holding his breath.

The passage snaked through earth, descending deeper into its depths, belching out cloying tunnel drafts that were somehow hot and cold at the same time, sending likewise shivers down his spine. Ever since his experiences with the Labyrinth, Nico had never felt particularly safe in underground places, even in the Underworld, even with hundreds of skeleton warriors at his disposal. Aether wasn't very compatible with tunnels, either, so the two of them were sufficiently disturbed.

The ramp-like floors soon turned into steps, and after a hundred and twenty (he lost track after that) the walls changed into stainless steel shafts, reminiscent of the inside of an air vent. Cold and dead.

_(like that of Nyx's eternal prison)_

νερό was waiting for him at the other side.

He was leaning against a metal door, one with a heavy rimmed wheel acting as a doorknob, the kind that needed to be spun open. But when Nico reached out, νερό stopped him.

"Do not," he warned. "It is a trap. This door holds back death. A channel had been dug into the Kaen River that leads beyond the door, and any wily intruders who think they have found a way in will flood the passageway, ensuring their own demise."

"That's… clever," Nico admitted.

νερό's mouth quirked into what might have been a smile. There was no hostility or contention in his expression.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Now… you may want to hold on tight."

Nico only had time to furrow his brow and ask, "_What—_?"

—before the ground exploded in a snarl of air.

The two of them were sent flying. Instead of becoming a splatter (from the speed they were travelling, Nico wouldn't have been surprised) the cavern folded in on itself, revealing another passageway.

He thought he actually laughed.

His blood was singing—there was something about the air that called to him, exhilaration roaring. However, his excitement was greatly diminished when he crashed into the newly materialized ground, cutting off the air flow and letting gravity reclaim control.

νερό had landed gracefully on his feet; Nico, not so much. Groaning, he rubbed the back of his head, where a bruise was starting to form.

"You didn't think _he_ would risk his laboratory being flooded, did you? Follow, quickly."

νερό didn't give him another glance. He placed his hand on the wall and pushed forward, twisting his wrist and flicking his fingers upwards to reveal a hidden function. A section of the steel plate diverged backwards, giving away to form a hollow depression. νερό knelt, allowing the small light that had appeared to scan his left eye.

There was a sharp click.

"Perseus of the Darkness, welcome," a cool female voice intoned, and then the elevator-like doors opened.

Nico was about to demand for an answer —Perseus of the Darkness? _What_? Impossible—but he forgot entirely what he was about to say.

It was like something that had come straight out of a sci-fi movie.

The first thing that struck him was the smell of formaldehyde, or Ordis' equivalent of such a chemical. It was overpowering in scent, almost like the entire steel room had been whitewashed in it.

_(the smell of a morgue)_

Then, it was the mirrors.

Opaque and glassy, they lined the walls in floor-to-ceiling rectangles. Occasionally, something dark seemed to flit across the surface, but it was gone before he could really be sure. He almost thought he could see faces, staring back, pale and moon-white. The eyes of the dead, perhaps?

_"—take me with you—"_

The room itself was nothing spectacular, save for a cluster of medical equipments that had been flung into a haphazardly heap, as though the user had left in a hurry. It resembled a wide corridor, with the mirrors instead of windows, with a ceiling so high it was difficult to see.

Even with the surgical light bathing the atmosphere in a harsh, white light, Nico was aware of eyes staring back at him, hidden, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

Upon closer inspection, he could make out tubs of organs—hearts, livers, brains— separated meticulously into groups. They were shrivelled up, as though it had been a long time since they were harvested. Brain scanners, some sort of cell splicing device, and several black covered books (stained with suspicious liquid) littered the ground.

He leaned against one of the mirrors, crossed his arms, and glared at νερό.

"Well? What is it? Impressive as it is, I doubt you dragged me down here to show me a glorified maze and abandoned lab."

"Correct," νερό agreed affably, but said nothing more. He was a dark blot in the foreground, unmoving, a silent spectator. Nico noticed that he was standing as far away from the mirrors as possible, and was averting his eyes from them.

"All of your riddles are becoming inf—what the hell?"

His hand went to the back of his neck. It came back coated in liquid, the smell of formaldehyde stronger than ever. It burned his skin, and he wiped it against the sleeve of his tunic as best he could.

Something wet slid through his hair, ropes of foul slimy liquid staining his hair a murky brown. A sickening feeling curled in his stomach, but he did his best to quash it down. A kind of connection bade him forward.

Shadows edged around the mirrors, shining with glassy opalescence.

To distract himself, he picked up the first item he could find and began to fiddle with it. It was a book, one of the ones scattered across the room. Flipping to the first page, the faint blue lines were blank, except for a single sketch of what seemed like a double helix, with some variations. The entire diagram had been angrily scribbled out, judging by the thickness and depth of the lines, which have almost punched through the paper.

Letting the spine fold shut under his hands, Nico stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling. This did not bode well, but for what, he did not know. The ambiguity was starting to drive him mad. A prickle of fear edged his throat.

He thought he heard tapping, like the sound of someone's foot impacting stone, like the sound of a heart trying to beat again.

In the next moment, it was gone.

νερό seemed to have disappeared from sight. Nico was alone. He spun in a circle, and his footsteps were jarringly loud in the silent, tomb-like room.

The tapping, again, loud and raucous.

_Thud-thud, thud-thud. Tap-tap-tap._

"Gods…" Nico muttered, shaking his head, an incredulous laugh ripping from his throat, hysterical sounding. "I must be going crazy again."

_Tap-tap-tap. Thud-thud-thud. Tap-tap-tap._

A hiss of movement. Nico spun around, heart thrashing against his ribcage—no, it was a cockroach, nothing more, he had seen it scuttling away from the light, back towards the door, fleeing death.

_Tap-tap-tap. Thud-thud-thud. Tap-tap-tap._

The sounds echoed. It formed a rhythm, almost like words, repeating over and over. Almost a message.

_Tap-tap-tap._

To his distinct horror, it was getting closer, not as obscure as it had been before. As if the maker was approaching. Nico snapped his head from side to side, but there was no one there. In the harsh illumination, every nook and cranny was starkly clear, so he knew that there was no way he could have missed anything.

Fine. But the sounds were still getting closer, until he could feel the vibrations at the base of his skull.

_Thud-thud-thud._

A slow revelation made him stiffen in shock. He had been looking in the wrong place, all along.

_Tap-tap-tap._

_(sos, sos, save our souls, save me, fear me, love me)_

A dull thud, like flesh hitting glass. Then again. And again.

Scrapes, the sound of metallic fingernails being dragged over a chalkboard, muffled by water. The high-pitched wailing echoed in Nico's ears.

The mirror stained cold.

He turned around.

And a face stared back at him from the mirror. It was not his own. Many words came to mind, but none were horrible enough to describe the monstrosity staring back.

Misshapen. Humanoid, but also nothing like a human. It was a baby, yet it was not. There was something so glaringly grotesque about it that instantly made Nico know that this creature was not borne from nature.

It had eyes. Perhaps, they were the only thing beautiful about the thing. Vivid black pupils, shrunk into a pinprick-dot, revealed the emerald-crimson irises beneath. Directly underneath, there was a nose, but it was so heavily smashed and damaged that it could only be recognized by its position on the face.

And the mouth. Or, what should have been the mouth.

Glaring teeth, sharp and needle-like—there were literally hundreds crowding into its soft gums, jutting out in painful clumps. It was as though someone had decided to stick as many needles as they could in the baby's mouth in place of where the teeth should be.

Lank hairs covered the head, soft and downy, thinning the milk-white flesh that grew in bubbling ridges underneath stretched skin, pockmarked with streaks of black. An unbalanced neck, rather skeletal torso, in which Nico could see ribs protruding in sharp slashes of bone, grew down to the place where there, on a normal child, there should have been legs. Instead, two stumps grew in its place, cauterized at the ends, wobbling in the light.

An umbilical cord swayed in the black waters, pink and twisted, malformed. It was attached to nothing, but it writhed around like a fifth limb, like it had a mind of its own.

Its hands. Perfectly formed, almost feminine, with long, tapered fingers that ended in sharp nails. And yet, there was something grotesque about it that made Nico shudder and back away. It was too perfect. Perfect things tended to kill you.

"It's dead," Nico muttered to himself. "Oh gods. It's dead."

_(ignoring the way its fingers twitched, ignoring the way its mouth opened wider and wider, slowly, joints squealing)_

And then it woke.

Eyes enlarged, showing the whites, pupils so insignificant they almost disappeared into the sick green. The needle-mouth opened, and Nico could see the places where they had cut into the baby's gums, drawing blood, blood that was soon carried away by the water.

Claws screeched down glass, leaving thin white scratches, but somehow, they seemed so much bigger, so much deeper.

Its left forefinger moved in a pattern. Tap-tap-tap, it went. Thud-thud-thud. Tap-tap-tap.

Dot-dot-dot. Dash-dash-dash. Dot-dot-dot.

Morse code. SOS.

Save our souls.

_(somehow, it felt like a mockery of the real thing, of the real message)_

Glassy eyes, like peppermint candy. Insane.

Then its face pressed against the glass, that horrid neck twitching, tendons straining, snapping from side to side as if searching for Nico. He stood as still as he could, ramrod straight, eyes wide. Through the translucent skin, he could see blue veins, pulsing with the beat of its heart.

Scritch-scratch.

Its nail left a thin white line in the glass, those eyes fixed on him unrelentingly, neck bent to an unnatural angle, mouth bared in some semblance of a bloodthirsty smile.

_—UOY ƎƎƧ I_

Eyes locked on his. Mouth, teeth gleaming, opened once again in a gruesome rendition of a triumphant screech. Green lumps rolled backwards in its head, until all Nico could see was bloodshot white. One hand pressed against the glass, flesh pressed into a perfect circle of bloodless white, the other thumping against the barrier as hard as it could, body quivering, loose muscles moving like squirming bugs under gruesomely scarred skin.

Dull thuds.

White foam trickled from its mouth, iridescent bubbles rushing to the surface in a stream of blue-black. Limbs thrashing, it looked as though it was drowning, one of those kinds of fits that would have driven lifeguards into a frenzy.

But Nico knew better. He almost thought it was laughing malevolently. At him, no doubt.

Keeping his gaze locked, Nico stumbled over his feet, irrational fear pushing logic —_it's caged, it can't get me, this is ludicrous, calm down_— to where it was nothing but an incessant murmur.

His back hit the other side of the room, cold seeping through his elaborate tunic.

Screeches.

From the other side of the room, the baby's skeletal arms waved in chaotic, jerking movements, leg-stumps twitching erratically. The umbilical cord trailed behind in its wake, pale pink and fleshy, like a worm.

Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to sink, lower and lower until its eyes were the only thing visible from the bottom rim of its prison, polluted malevolence staining the irises. Occasionally, a disfigured hand would make an appearance before sinking back into the depths. It bobbed up and down in the water, sometimes rising more than halfway, others sinking completely out of sight.

Slowly but surely, it was coming closer.

It was swimming.

His breath joined his heart in inactivity. Several seconds of silence. Darkness. The baby did not resurface.

_(please let it have drowned)_

Then, another quiet tap, this time, right next to his ear.

Nico lurched backwards, momentarily lost his balance, and crashed to the ground with a loud thump. His heart screamed with the terror his voice could not put into words.

White, ghostly white, in a sea of black, black like octopus ink. The mirrors weren't mirrors after all.

He could see past the pale pink tongue, flopping in the lipless mouth, straight down the empty void that was its throat. Teeth gnashed, drawing blood, sometimes hidden by the sea of bubbles that would rush past. One hand scratched in an up-and-down motion on the glass, bulbous head overbalancing on a thin neck.

"I see you've met Hydros."

νερό melted from the shadows.

The baby went catatonic for a few precious seconds, before it flung itself back against the barrier with a vengeance, thrashing and contorting its face in ways that should have been impossible.

TAP-THUD-THUD-TAP. THUD-THUD-THUD. THUD-TAP-THUD. TAP-TAP-THUD. TAP-TAP-TAP.

"Hydros. It hasn't been long enough," νερό said in response, his own green eyes narrowing. They were the same color as the baby's, the same sickly, washed-out shade of poison.

"What the _hell?"_ Nico shouted, his voice cracking halfway through. "Why didn't you tell me what the _fuck_ this was for?"

νερό —_Pontus_— merely gave him a cool glance from the corners of his eyes.

"You needed to see for yourself," he said dismissively. "You would not have believed me otherwise. And," here, he smiled sardonically, looking unnervingly like the demented baby floating in the giant bath, still scrabbling against the glass, "you would not know what it was like to grow up with that… thing. I? I was lucky. I was the best result, the best clone, one that was the strongest and looked the most normal. If I hadn't been, I would have been thrown to the wolves. And whatever you may say about Hydros," he shrugged in disgust, "he was always the best at covering _His_ tracks. He feasted upon the flesh of the others, the failures. I do believe he's hungry right now, having not eaten for millennia. That is why he's so excited to see you."

Now that Nico looked closer, he thought he could see strips of rotted flesh lining the needle-teeth. A shiver of disgust roiled in his stomach, burning his throat with bile. He gripped the corner of the table, hard, his knuckles white, and it snapped under the pressure.

"This… this is…"

No words would do it justice. He fumbled for something to say.

Aether's indignation welled up inside him, along with more than a healthy dose of piteous disgust, and he couldn't help but add, "this is sick. Whoever did this… he deserves nothing less than the fate of his failures. I'd wager Hydros would be happy."

Pontus gave him a dark smile, hands clasped behind his back. He was turned towards the pale fetus that was, in a twisted way, his twin, looking very much like he was inspecting a particularly ugly piece of art in a museum.

"I am glad we share the same perspective. But I do not think you really know what you are saying."

Nico's silence was more than enough of an answer. Pontus gestured at one of the black books dismissively, still not turning away from the glass barrier.

"Have a look through one of those books. You shall understand what I mean."

Nico eyed him distrustfully —he wasn't about to forget that Pontus had attacked them, no matter what Aether thought— but scooped one up, noting that this one was more worn than the previous one, its spine creased with white fatigue, several cream colored pages dog-eared. Red ink littered the margins, some scrawling out new information in a thin, neat print.

The first entry read: glorius omnus rirrich sein sal haet—

Nico squinted. The letters rearranged themselves.

_'It was impossibly difficult to acquire a blood sample. I was only able to do so in the disguise of a doctor changing his bandages, after he was sedated and unconscious._

_'Analyzed blood sample. It is odd. I see a double—no, a triple helix. Abnormal, almost impossible to imitate. It is like nothing I have seen before. Shall attempt to recreate DNA via—' _Nico flipped to the next page, skipping forward. _'—first creation. Zygote growing, fast entering cleavage state. Recombinant DNA successful.'_

That was the last entry for a while, for so long that Nico had to scatter quite a few pages to find the next. This was all very surreal, as if it had been pulled out of the diary of a mad scientist.

_'FAILURE_,' was printed in bold red letters, angrily. Then, in smaller print, but still very disjunct and scrambled, there was, _'The resulting creature possessed four limbs, yes, but not in the way it should. Three arms and one leg. I can see the brain, a soft grey mass poking from the half-developed skull._

_'The eye is nothing more than an pendant of murky red, like blood is bleeding haphazardly through the entire orb. It gives the creature a look of possession._

_'SAMPLE TERMINATED.'_

Frowning, Nico closed the book, his palms lingering on the worn cover. It had been pockmarked with some sort of acid, perforating the material, letting him see long, flowing script underneath. A piece of paper had been carefully tucked between the folds of leather. It was only by sheer luck that Nico's clumsy shuffling had slipped it into view. With his finger, he pried it out, trying not to rip the brittle material.

There was only one word written. A name.

"No… this… this is impossible."

It crumbled under his fist. Pontus crouched next to him, and only then did Nico realize that he had stuttered it aloud.

"Yes. You are not mistaken. This is Order's."

Aether reared forward, tearing control.

"You are lying," he snapped, and on fumbling legs, he staggered to the neat table in the center of the room. A neat stack of letters were hidden in the furthermost drawer, tied with a blood red ribbon. Nico ripped it aside, scattering the pages. Words flowed past his subconscious, each bearing a poisonous barb—

_experiments_

_failure_

_discovery_

_weapons_

"No… no!" he half-moaned, a thundering tattoo beating behind his eyes, drowning out his thoughts until it was all he could hear.

_(war drums)_

In a fit of frenzied disbelief and betrayal, he yelled something incomprehensible and kicked the table over, papers scattering like thousands of white butterfly wings, marred with lines of black poison.

"Do you believe me now?" Pontus asked quietly, surveying Nico's dishevelled state. After several minutes, he spoke again, breathing still ragged from uncalmed hatred.

"Yes…" he mumbled.

It was impossible to deny. He could accuse Pontus of planting the papers, but they both knew it wasn't true. Order's handwriting, his seal… it was nigh impossible to imitate properly. The subtle nuances of his writing was something Aether had become accustomed to and could recognize instantly.

A sudden spike of frustration made his voice come out harsher than expected. He but out, "That does not explain why you attacked Erebus and I that night."

"Is it not clear, yet?" Pontus asked softly, his voice dangerously low. "I was ordered to. We are bound by an oath. He helps me achieve my goal, and I shall obey him until he has done so. Order tells me to attack the two of you and abduct the younger Pontus… I am in no position to deny."

The Aether part of Nico influenced his suspicion. "And what was his part of the oath?"

Pontus waved off the question. "That is not the issue," he replied dismissively. "The issue is what he has done with Erebus, and who is masquerading as him in this very moment."

"Masquerading? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Pontus glanced furtively over his shoulder, eyes hooded.

"The true Erebus… he's not here. He's locked up in a prison far worse than you could ever imagine. This is only a piece of Order's master plan. Even I am not fully aware of the details. He ordered me to severely incapacitate Erebus and to put you into a comatose state. As you were unable to give a testimony, he had Erebus thrown to the court for a trial, to which he was found guilty."

"That is _preposterous_!" Aether exploded, and Nico couldn't help but agree.

"Indeed," Pontus admitted. "For what it is worth: I am not ashamed of the part I played, but I am sorry for the result. I cannot disobey Order; we are bound."

"Then why tell me all of this when you're just going to tell Order to kill me afterwards?"

A secretive smile.

"I cannot go against Order's spoken commands, that is true," he amended, "but he forgets that I am not his thinks he is able to control me. I can withhold any information I want. And our conversation today… consider it an apology for past matters. He shall not know."

"How do I know you're not lying?" Nico demanded.

"You do not. I _could_ be lying to you. I _could_ be manipulating you into trusting me. I could be plotting your very death by feeding you to Hydros. But I am not. You and I, we both have a common goal. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"And who, exactly, is this common enemy of ours?" Nico asked softly, treacherously. Pontus cocked his head patronizingly to the side, as if Nico was a little child and was being very stupid.

"Is it not obvious? Order, of course."

His throat was suddenly dry, parched. He swallowed, but it did little to relieve the brittle pressure.

"You… just what makes you think I'll go against Order? Because, you're wrong. I—I'm not. I won't. I'm not."

Pontus gave him a dry smile. "You are," he said, his expression haughty and confident. "Even if you have not realized your own actions, you have set Order's plans back."

"Have you considered that I've simply disrupted Order because I don't _like_ his intentions, and not because I have some diabolical plan to rule the world?" Nico challenged, and Pontus' smile slipped a little from his face, as if he really hadn't considered it. "Oh, no. You can't be serious. You actually want to overthrow Order."

"I do what I must," he replied hoarsely, the first bit of genuine emotion seeping into his voice. "I feel my control slipping. He has wormed himself into my mind. He wishes to control me, to make me his ultimate weapon. Would you not do the same, Aether of Day? Would you not conquer a tyrannical ruler to free yourself from his clutches?"

Straightening, Pontus' eyes flickering closed for a few calming seconds. When they opened again, his voice had returned to its steady drawl.

"It does not matter if you believe me or not, Aether. What matters now—you must listen to me, very carefully, if you wish to keep your life."

Nico growled. "Is that a threat, Pontus?"

Pontus only raised his eyebrow. "It is assurance, Day. In two days' time, the castle shall be under attack. From whom, I cannot say. But be warned—the target is you. The primary objection is your death, and Nyx's as well. You will need to get out of Ordis."

"That's impossible. I don't know how to travel dimensions."

"But Erebus does." After a silent pause, Pontus added, "I do not mean the _fake_ Erebus, the one that follows you around. This is also a reason why we are discussing in Order's lab. Say what you will, but Order is paranoid enough to ward his laboratory against intruders. This is to our advantage."

Nico started in alarm.

"You can see him too? Erebus, I mean."

"Indeed. Whoever he is, he is strong enough to keep out of the other Primordials' vision. He is very, very well disguised, but I can catch glimpses of him on occasion. You must not let him know of your intentions. He is not your friend."

"I don't believe you."

"You do not need to. Heed my warning, or you can choose not to. But keep in mind, it is not only your life you are gambling, but Nyx's and Erebus' as well."

"Don't drag them into this!" he snapped back.

"Is it not?" Pontus retorted coolly. "Have you thought about where the real Erebus is while you play around with fakes? Have you thought what they have done to him? He is your brother, after all."

"Brother?" Nico echoed in confusion.

Pontus shook his head once. "It is not my secret to give. Erebus will tell you… if he is still able."

"You keep saying that he's somewhere horrible, but you refuse to give me details," said Nico, frustration building on his brow. "Either tell me or stop giving out half-truths."

"You would not believe me."

"Try me."

Pontus' eyes were hooded, shadowed, not letting light shine through their depths. There was a bitter set to the angle of his mouth.

"Very well. Aether. Do you believe in fairy tales? In happy endings?"

"How is this relevant?"

"Ahh…" He drew out the syllable mockingly. Nico's hair stood up on end, and he tensed. "After all this time, you still believe that the world consists of nothing but good intentions and happy endings. After all you have seen and done, you are still hopelessly naïve.

"All fairy tales are based on a sliver of truth. A warning, told to children by their parents, wearing the guise of a bedtime story. Sometimes, they are more factual than we are lead to believe."

A sudden revelation made Nico's head spin.

"You're talking about the Vault of Ashes."

A faint, almost approving smile.

"Very good. That is correct. The Vault of Ashes exists, larger than life. It is a prison, the likes of which you cannot imagine. Perhaps, you know it as the Pit, the prison of our dear, estranged Primordial, Tartarus. But really, that is incorrect. The Vault of Ashes is older than Tartarus, older than most of us. Tartarus' Pit was a later addition to the Vault. With time, the terms became interchangeable."

* * *

><p><em>her grip tightens on his arm<em>  
><em>and they are running, splashing over the River<em>  
><em>acid biting their heels<em>

_her breath is hot_  
><em>hair straggling across her face<em>

_black_

_and white_

* * *

><p>"I believe Erebus has mentioned to you about the possibility of crossing dimensions," Pontus said. At Nico's nod, he continued, "then you should know that it is possible to escape Tartarus."<p>

* * *

><p><em>"We are close," she tells him, but deep<em>  
><em>in his heart, he knows<em>

_it's too far away._

_the tunnel's mouth in black-hideous-gaping_  
><em>and he can't help but feel<em>

_the earth's going to_

_swallow them whole  
><em>

* * *

><p>"What?" Nico demanded, his eyes widening. "That…"<p>

"…is true," he interjected smoothly. "You should know of Daedalus' Labyrinth, correct?" Nico nodded again, dumbly, too confused to do much more. "The idea had been given to him by one of our own. But the son of Athena messed with archaic knowledge he had no control of. He is a mere demigod. There is no possible way he could harness our power. And so, the Labyrinth was left to spread on its own, sentient, a wayward child."

* * *

><p><em>"You can't escape, I've tried," he insists<br>_  
><em>his words<em>  
><em>are incomprehensible<em>

_a scream of anger  
>echoes from behind them<br>and he_

_trips_

_gold flashes in his_

_peripheral  
><em>_vision_

_but they do not stop_

_she slings him over her shoulder_  
><em>like a burlap bag<em>

_if he wasn't so cracked and_

_fragmented_

_he would have been  
><em>_mortified, __but she  
>only grins <em>_at him_

_like this is perfectly  
><em>_normal, and __after so long without_

_human company_

_he doesn't know…  
><em>_(maybe it is)_

* * *

><p>"The Labyrinth spreads throughout Terra, its roots networking through the dimension. With our power, it also transcends through the dimensions, forming a narrow, rickety passageway that can be traveled through… though it is very, very difficult to do so."<p>

"It's gone, though. The tunnels, I mean. They've collapsed. It shouldn't be possible. I was—"

—_there when it happened_. He bit his tongue. Pontus' lip curled.

"You are incorrect. The powers that joined to make the Labyrinth—it is very unstable, like that of mixing oil and water. At any given moment, it may separate. It needs a constant source of energy to keep it in check, to feed it, to keep it alive. A Primordial's. And to that Primordial, the Labyrinth shall be bound."

* * *

><p><em>"Don't worry," she says. "We have a habit of doing the impossible."<em>

_they run_

* * *

><p>"Think," Pontus urged again, being unusually helpful for once in his life. "Which of our kinsmen would be able to resurrect the Labyrinth and bind it to her will? To which does it fall under her Domain?"<p>

The revelation hit him hard and fast, like a punch to the stomach. He reeled back, gasping.

"Gaea. Earth. The Labyrinth is in the earth."

A thin smile. "That is correct. Gaea. She has waged war upon the Olympians, and has bound the Labyrinth for her use."

This was too much to absorb in one night. Nico felt as though his head was going to explode. He'd been hit with a couple more landmines than was healthy—too many questions answered. Belatedly, he wondered if it was better if he never found out, just remained in that angry, ignorant state he had been in for the majority of his life.

Pontus smirked.

"And we will use this to our advantage."

* * *

><p><em>"Not many know of this path," she tells him.<em>  
><em>"Only we do. And the Primordials, some of them."<em>

_he's included in that statement_  
><em>as though he was part of a larger faction<em>

_he has no knowledge of_

* * *

><p>"What do you mean?" Nico found himself asking, even though a part of him is screaming to stop. But he has gone down too far, too deep to be dragged back out.<p>

Pontus sits calmly, and gestured for Nico to do the same. Numbly, he complied, falling into an ungainly pile of limbs, too confused to care about dignity.

"Primordials—we are the manifestation of raw elements. I am the one of Water. You are one of Light. Gaea is Earth. And yet, we are interconnected. One cannot survive without the other. You cannot exist without Darkness. Primordials cannot survive without their opposite. That is the fundamental rule of balance."

_(hypocrite)_

Nico couldn't help but feel he was several steps away from where he was supposed to be. He understood the connections Pontus was making… and yet, they did not make sense.

"And?" he prompted carefully.

"And, it is possible to fool the Labyrinth into allowing you access. In a loose sense of the word, you have minor control over air. Air is the opposite of Earth. Despite your differences, the Labyrinth would not be able to tell the difference."

"So what is it you want me to do, exactly?" Nico snapped. "Run to a different dimension and hide like a fool? Is that what you'd _rather_ have me do?"

"The last time you acted like a fool, you all but killed Erebus."

"Because of your doing! If it wasn't for you—"

"I was following orders. There was a reason I targeted you when you were alone. On a technical standpoint, I would have been forced to make a retreat when Erebus joined with you."

"So that makes it better, your following orders that almost killed the two of us? Is it better that you drove Nyx insane?"

A frown.

"That was not my doing."

* * *

><p><em>"You will not remember me," she says<em>  
><em>her eyes are<em>

_sad_

_but they are understanding_

_"The waters will wipe your memory of my presence. We shall meet again in Ordis,_  
><em>do not worry."<em>

_he hesitates at the entrance_

_ardent light_  
><em>streams from the <em>

_doorway._

_"Wait!" he calls out, at her retreating figure. "At least tell me your name."_

* * *

><p>Nico crossed his arms over his chest. While it would have looked childish in his normal, scrawny form, on a seven-foot-something Primordial with bigger muscles than anyone Nico had ever seen in his life, he was sufficiently intimidating enough to pull it off.<p>

"Well, you're the only suspicious one around here. If not you, then who?"

"You are not taking 'Erebus' into account."

"Oh, come off it. Are you serious? You think he's being possessed or something? Don't you think one of us would have noticed?"

"Not when the perpetrator is an Old One."

That shut Nico up pretty quickly.

'_Old Ones,_' Aether warned sharply. _'Like Order, Chaos. Them. The ones who created the Primordials, created the world.'_

"So… he's an Old One, and we probably swear by him. The only one you've shown fear of is the… Infernal Void. Void. Yeah, I think that was his name. The one in the Vault, right? But that isn't possible. Isn't he supposed be trapped in his prison till the end of time, or something along those lines?"

"Supposedly," Pontus agreed. "But there is a loophole. Perseus had him turned to stone for his betrayal—"

_(we can rule the world, you and I)_

"I don't remember something like this ever happening."

"—ah, but there are many things you do not know about Perseus. His deathly reaction to silver, for example. The first assassination attempt on his life was very close to killing him.

"No, this was before your time, Aether. Void befriended a young Perseus, and they were partners for several missions, as mercenaries. Void had manipulated himself to look the same age as Perseus, and began to manipulate him into a weapon he could use. It was only after a few years that he caught on and imprisoned him in the Vault of Ashes, turned to stone."

_"—you leave me no choice. This cannot continue. For that, I am sorry. Goodbye, Void."_

"After centuries of stagnance, Void had been able to absorb Tartarus' ambient energy and compile it into a weak match of his own. It is enough for him to move in short bursts of power. Thus, he used the Labyrinth to travel to Terra. The mortals there know it as Earth. There, he became known as Lacrimosa."

Nico hand jerked; he wasn't fast enough to suppress the reaction, but Pontus had his back turned to him and did not see.

Grover had mentioned the name. It had taken much coaxing (read: blackmail) to get that much out of him, and it was only because Percy was feverous and delirious and screaming something about angels that were out to get him.

"What did he do?" he asked, a curious inflection coloring his voice.

Pontus bared his teeth in a sharp grin, the shadows drawing his face into bloody angles.

"He killed them. The mortals. Sucked out their heart. Cut off their heads." At Nico's slightly incredulous look, he elaborated, "ah, yes. Do you know why he is called Void, and what he stands for, Aether?"

"Err… he stands for nothing? The word, I mean."

Pontus raised one eyebrow. "Half points. Void stands for Emptiness. This is where he draws on his power, in the same way you draw on the Light for power and the same way Nyx draws on the night. There is very little Emptiness on Earth. The gods have made sure of that, paranoid as they are. So, he must create it."

Nico leaned forward against his own volition, captivated by the way firelight sparked off malicious verdant eyes, as if he savored the tale flowing from his lips like the water he stood for, crafted into sharp, icy edges with his tongue.

"Hope is an entity—or, she was. We shall not get into that tale today. There are too many descriptions to cover. Just know that she had been tried and found guilty. In fear of her power, the Council of Ordis shredded her into pieces and cast her to Earth.

"The fragment in Pandora's pithos is merely that—a fragment. The true hope is splintered into miniscule pieces and exists in every living thing in every dimension. Insignificant as it is, the humans cannot survive without Hope. They die soon enough, and Void rips off their head with relish."

"So, there is no way to defeat him," Nico said flatly.

That orb of light, the one he had seen when Erebus—but no, that wasn't really Erebus, was it?— had killed the Faction Five civilian, the one he had absorbed…

"You see the true severity of our situation now," Pontus said quietly, watching as Nico's expression wavered between abhorrence and troubled. It was not a question anymore.

"You mentioned a loophole, but Perseus… he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have left such a blatant mistake."

* * *

><p><em>"I am Death. Goodbye<em>_, Perseus__…"_

* * *

><p>Something sour twisted Pontus' face, before it was gone. A flash of regret, of indecision. Nico watched carefully.<p>

"He is the original, isn't he? In the eye scanner, the machine called you "Perseus of the Darkness," and I know that you're not him. You are his copy."

"So you've figured it out." His hands were at his sides, clenched into hard fists, knuckles white. Swallowing the words he obviously ached to say, he ground out, "But to your question. It was not a mistake. There is no absolute way to bind a Primordial, let alone one of the Old Ones. It was to risk having a loophole, or having the dimension collapse from the strain of trying to hold up such an intricate conjuration."

"If it's so difficult to incapacitate, let alone kill an Old One, then what about Chaos? He's dead."

Pontus frowned, distracted from his previous ire. "I would not be so sure of that. There are many loose ends. The body was never found. I have—" Blinking, he shook his head, as if dazed, disoriented. "That is a topic for another day. We are fast running out of time."

* * *

><p><em>"…my love."<em>

* * *

><p>Nico looked around, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Hydros was no longer attempting to eat Pontus from the mirror-aquarium. He was out of sight—though, that didn't make him feel any better.<p>

_(for him, at least, out of sight never meant out of mind)_

"The attack on Ordis commences in two hours. Time passes faster down here." Nico made to interrupt, but Pontus shushed him. "There is no more time to talk. Find Nyx. Seek the exit. You must hurry. I shall try to delay the invasion, but I will only be able to buy minutes."

Not waiting for an answer, he moved swiftly towards the exit, pressing his open palm to a seemingly invisible catch in the wall. Seamless doors hissed open. Pontus cast a glance over his shoulder and jerked his head meaningfully, towards the tunnels and the stairs to the real world.

Nico bit his tongue. When Pontus' back was turned, he hastily knelt and scooped up the closest journal, stuffing the offending object under the loose material of his tunic, awkwardly cradling his arm to hide the bulge.

-o-

The rest of the trip was uneventful.

It was spent in a hurry, and Nico soon came to realize that moving quickly and trying not to trip over his own feet was a very bad combination. Had Pontus not hauled him up at the last moment, Nico would have fell into the chasms beneath the steps twice over.

And then he could see the light of the world slanted over the side of the tunnel, dimmed as though a blanket had been thrown over it. Nico poked his head out of the disguised entrance, brilliantly white hair sticking up on all sides, making him look as though he'd just stuck his fingers in an electric socket.

He hauled himself out with a grunt. Pontus was already there. He said nothing, only took to the rooftops with a speed and agility that made him resemble an overgrown bat.

Faction Five was silent. Deserted. The few civilians that still remained were bolting themselves into their straw thatched huts—not that it made a difference, really. A good breeze would be enough to send them toppling over. A tiny spark of a match would be enough to burn down the entire Faction, just like the West Gate had gone up in a brilliant column of white fire.

Again, Nico is reminded of the stark contrast between Five and the pristine opalescence of Order's castle. Merely an illusion, a pretty truth, to cover the ugly scars hidden underneath.

All around him, the smell of parched earth soaked in rain drifted into the air. It had been from the night before, but the sun had yet to dry up the puddles pooling on the trail to Order's castle, slipping over the edges of the roofs. Nico stared down at one, seeing the sky reflecting glassily in its surface before his foot disrupted the image into ripples of color.

Eventually, the sun dipped towards the horizon, the trees bordering the trail mercifully blocking its scorching rays—not that it was difficult to. The vegetation here was wild and untamed, even more so than on Earth. The trees were easily ten times Nico's height, and he was by no means short. Their leaves spread in a thick canopy above them, forming an umbrella of shade that threw the entire world under it in shadow. It was almost impossible to tell day from night there.

As there was no sunlight available, undergrowth vegetation did not require the green for photosynthesis. They were black, almost shriveled looking and weedy. Some were spiny, and Nico could detect the faint scent of decay from underneath its spindly leaves.

He looked up.

A storm cloud roiled over the horizon.

_(and he's suddenly reminded of the stormy skies, as Zeus' fury destroys his mother's hotel)_

But no, it's moving too fast to be a storm cloud, swirling into ashy curls of gray with the wind.

A leaf rustled. Nico's head snapped to the side. It was silent once more, except for the sound of… drum beats? Whatever it was, it was rapidly approaching.

A deer broke through the foliage, leaping over Nico, narrowly missing his head. He almost gutted the animal, but managed to reign in the impulse in time.

The thud of hooves, of little paws, stormed past them. Nico cursed and covered his head protectively as birds and woodland creatures charged from the opposite direction, fleeing the cloud.

"Is that _smoke?"_ Nico said suddenly.

A thick collar of grey ringed the forest, and more streamed from a source halfway across the horizon. It looked as though an entire city was burning, or at least, something of massive proportions.

Pontus was already in motion. He unsheathed a pair of wickedly thin dual blades, the edges keen and hued a deep blue. As he watched, the edges flickered with dark fire.

"Stay here."

"I can help," Nico insisted angrily, Aether's blood speaking. "I'm fine, like I told the doctors. I can fight."

"They have come early!" Pontus shouted over the roar of the wind howling through their ears. "If you believe yourself capable, go to Nyx. You must hurry. I shall try and hold them off."

With an impossible burst of speed, he was gone. In the blink of an eye, he was nothing more than a black speck upon the horizon, rapidly approaching the castle.

…Nico decided that he really needed to get some exercise.

While Aether was freakishly strong, he was also freakishly slow, and Nico could already feel the red haze splattering over his vision, making the world pulse with every beat of his heart, threatening to send him toppling over the side.

Shadow travelling.

He had no other choice.

Steeling his nerve, he held his breath and ran towards the wall, where a thin shadow fluttered, translucent and faded, almost as if it had no value to it.

His head smashed against the wall.

If Aether hadn't had such a thick skull (no doubt from being bashed on the head too many times than was healthy) then Nico knew he would have had a lovely concussion to wake up to. As it was, he felt like he'd repeatedly hit himself in the head with a sledgehammer.

Stumbling back, his vision blurred at the edges, black spots quivering with the throb of his heartbeat. With a blinded gasp, his hand blindly found the rough edge of the wall.

"Oww…" he grumbled, rubbing the rapidly swelling bump on his forehead. Glaring at the shadow again, he could see the places where his hard head and cracked and dented the stone wall.

Damn it. The shadows weren't responding. Nico tried to push his hand through, but only met resistance. He was so busy cursing himself and trying to find a way to the castle in time that he did not realize that someone was standing behind him the entire time, dark eyes cold.

"Who are you, to trespass on me and mine?" The man's voice was a sibilant hiss, purring yet frigid.

In shock, Nico jumped and almost smacked his head back against the wall again. Spinning gracelessly, his sword stood at the ready, unsheathed, the cool metal humming under his touch, vibrating with intensity.

Even with a sword's point at his throat, the figure did not flinch away, and his gaze never wavered—as if it was beneath his dignity to do so.

"I am the second manifestation of Darkness," he intoned, responding to Nico's silent question. "Of the Endless as well, I suppose."

"You're lying. Erebus is in control of those elements. You would not be able to usurp," Nico said, clearly uncomprehending. In his head, Aether stood stricken.

A sly grin. Manifestation-number-two cocked his head to the side, listening to a voice only he could hear, and _hnned_ dismissively.

"So you believe," he said carelessly. "But such is the way of the Darkness. Constantly in turmoil, constantly in strife. If the current avatar is not powerful enough, he shall be overthrown and a new one shall take his place, stripping the first's power. The laws of nature. Vincere aut mori. Conquer or die."

Nico backed away when the full meaning of the words hit him in the face.

"You're Erebus' replacement."

Manifestation-number-two smirked in reply.

"Correct on all counts. And…" he trailed off, head cocked to the side, observing Nico with an assessing look. Nico felt like he was being run through an x-ray machine. "…and no hard feelings. But I'm afraid I cannot allow you to rescue him." He drew his sword from its sheath in a rusty shriek of metal. Dying sunlight gleamed over razor-edges, sharp and thin, as though it could cleave air itself in two. "I shall have to stop you."

Nico turned so that he was at an angle from Manifestation, eyes narrowed, sword at the ready. When he blinked, some color had begun to leech into Manifestation's face, some of the gray tinge in his skin disappearing.

He was running out of time.

Manifestation bared his teeth in a grin, one that chilled Nico to the bone. There was nothing human about it.

"You forget what we are," he said softly. "First and foremost, we are assassins. You have less than an hour before I wrest full control from Erebus. Give up, Aether of Day. It shall be quick."

"This is going to end badly for you," Nico growled back.

Manifestation pointed his swords at Nico, who stood with his arms by his sides, tensed and prepared.

"So be it."

Nico stepped back and waited for Manifestation to make the first move, but he only raised a cool eyebrow in response. Stepping backwards, he tore open the clasp of his heavy winter cloak, letting it drift to the ground. With a few graceful movements that should have existed only on a professional dancer or a cat, Manifestation shrugged off his armor, leaving him in his tunic and pants as he picked up his swords again.

"Let's begin."

Nico scowled at him in confusion, but dashed forward, swinging his sword. Instead of countering, Manifestation slipped to the side, scoring several thin, shallow strikes before moving out of range. Nico turned and slashed at him again, but once more, Manifestation ducked out of reach. He seemed to realize that by strength, he was not a match for Nico. But by speed and agility…

Gods, he wished Nyx was here. She would take care of him. They were a team.

It was a blur of motion to Nico. Only instinct saved him. Twisting to the left, he was only barely able to parry aside Manifestation's decapitating blow. The sheer force behind the weapons made Nico grunt and stagger slightly, and it was only because of his death grip on the hilt that he was not unarmed.

Recovering faster than he thought possible, he had to duck as another blow whistled past his head, then again, as the second sword followed its twin.

"Damn it," he muttered, as a stab opened a deep gash on his cheek. He had been too slow to completely dodge the strike.

Nico slashed forwards, each stroke controlled and deadly. To any normal immortal, be they god or Titan, it would have been too fast to see, but _damn them all_, Manifestation was supposed to be Erebus' replacement, and Aether had known how good Erebus was at melee combat. He merely stepped out of the way, letting each blow miss him by a fraction of a centimeter, before twisting underneath Nico's blade and landing several hits, before moving out of range once more.

And his strategy was working. Nico was tiring. His strikes were becoming less and less efficient, becoming wilder as desperation wore in. Manifestation was only a blur in his hazed vision, and each beat of his heart thudded heavily in his head.

"On guard, Aether of Day!"

Nico's knee buckled. Manifestation had sliced apart the tendons in his left leg. It was useless.

Then he was behind him, jerking his hand in a clever twist, catching the hilt of Nico's sword and sending it skidding away, too far to reach. With his other hand, he forced Nico into a kneeling position, pushing down on the stubborn demigod until his knee finally gave under the pressure.

A cold blade touched his throat.

"So defenceless," Manifestation cooed mockingly. "How does it feel to kneel at my feet, _sire?"_

His pride was his downfall.

And in that moment, Nico struck.

Throwing his entire weight backwards, the movement was so unexpected that Manifestation was caught by surprise. He stumbled. Nico slipped out of his grip and in the same fluid motion slammed him into the wall, sending cracks racing up the side of the stone.

"Well, I don't know," he rasped, his face a millimeter away from Manifestation's, their noses almost touching. His breath was hot. "Why don't _you_ tell me?"

Nico slammed Manifestation's hand into the wall when he tried to stab him, effectively breaking his knuckles. Manifestation didn't scream, but his face twinged with pain. It was clearly written, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. Nico kicked the sword out of reach, his vice-like grip still encircling Manifestations rapidly paling wrist.

_"No hard feelings,"_ he said. "But I can't let you hurt them. I can't let you kill Erebus. And on this, we've reached an impasse. Goodbye."

Nico pinned him to the wall, put his hands on either side of Manifestation's head, and squeezed.

Manifestation screamed with pure agony as bone cracked. He clawed at Nico, but Nico only gritted his teeth and pressed harder, face becoming flushed with exertion. Manifestation's struggles became weaker and weaker as he struggled to breathe, bone splintering like gunshot, jutting into his brain, his face becoming deformed, a fissure splitting down the front of his head.

His skull imploded from the pressure.

Shadows exploded.

Nico was alone.

Eyes wide, he put his palms on his knees, bent over, and tried to draw breath. One numb hand came to his chest. Damn. Manifestation had a mean kick. Something must have been bruised.

He looked up and cursed again. By the calculations of the sun, he had forty minutes left —if what Manifestation said was true— before Erebus would fade completely. He couldn't let that happen.

There was something about him. Erebus. Something familiar, something like a tie that he couldn't let go.

He ran into the shadows. This time, there was no resistance, except for the hair-raising feeling of eyes watching his back. He was in foreign territory.

From what Manifestation had hinted at, Nico inferred that the Darkness was sentient.

"I have defeated your champion," he called aloud. "I will not hesitate to dispatch any others you send my way," stupid mouth. One day, it was going to get him in trouble. Actually, correction. It already has, "but for now, all I want is to rescue Erebus. He is the original avatar—destroy him, and you shall have destroyed yourself. Take me to Nyx. I will need her as well."

For a moment, there was nothing but a low rumble, like a deep laugh in the very pits of earth. Gradually, however, he realized that the vibrations were that of a shockwave. Of an explosion. But he was not given time to process this information, because something wrapped around his feet, pulling him down. He thrashed, but slimy black tendrils, oozing of darkness, closed over his mouth.

The ground tensed.

Then, Nico was spat out as though shot from a cannon, hitting his head so hard he saw white. The rest of his body fared better. He had landed on something soft and cold.

But no. As he blinked the stars out of his eyes, he realized that he had landed in a white room. He wasn't just seeing things.

Nyx was sitting in the corner, cross legged, humming a cheerful tune under her breath. Her back was hunched, and she leaned forward so that her elbow was propped against her knee. Her chin rested on the palm of her hand, pushing one side of her mouth up in a pout.

She was sitting in a puddle of blood.

Nico sucked in a harsh breath and leapt to his feet. He immediately regretted it when his head throbbed and the room warped out of proportion, the ground spinning under his feet.

Then, he happened to look down.

—well, he figured out what the squishy thing was, and why there was so much blood. He grimaced and looked away. Then, he decided he wasn't very sorry at all, and deliberately stomped on the man's face, the head lolling lifelessly. He was here because he had tried to kill Nyx. He was lucky he wasn't alive anymore.

Limping his way towards Nyx, he somehow ended up on his hands and knees, fighting back the urge to throw up.

… on second thought, if that man was still alive, he would've finished Nico off as well. He could just push him over and stab him with his own sword, and he'd have little strength to do much else.

Nyx was doodling little symbols and circles in the blood. When Nico got close enough, she tilted her head to the side to observe him.

"You're back!" she chirped happily. Her voice was still high-pitched, like that of a young girl's. "I missed you. The others are mean. The bad man," here, she skirted an angry glance at the dead man, her eyes so full of venom that Nico had to stifle a confused laugh, "tried to make me go with him. And I didn't want to. So… I threw him into a wall and then I killed him and I wanted to chop him to itty bitty pieces, but I figured that would've been mean."

"Are you hurt?" he asked, kneeling by her side, his hands gently gripping her shoulders. She leaned back into his touch, snuggling into his shoulder like a great cat.

"Yeah," she mumbled, then added cheerfully, "you're warm. It's nice. I'm always so cold here."

Nico's hands tightened protectively, and Nyx squeaked in surprise at the sudden pressure.

"Well, you're not staying here anymore. We're getting out of here. We need to get to the Vault of Ashes. Tartarus." Then, he paused to think, and added sheepishly. "Err… I don't suppose you know the way there?"

Nyx's reply was cut off when the door burst open, a figure tumbling in, followed by a hailstorm of arrows. The figure slammed the door shut again, his back pressed against the metal. Arrowheads impaled and dented the door behind him.

When he looked up, Nico recognized the figure and relaxed.

"Pontus."

Nyx wrinkled her nose at him. "You again," she said, her voice modulating to a careful tone. "You're the weird one."

Pontus laughed shortly, a harsh bark of sound. He looked worse for the wear. One side of his armor was ripped off, and his arm bore testament to teeth marks. "Yes, well. It's not the worst I have been called. But it's about time you've gotten here, Aether. The whole battalion is coming. Chronus, Ophion, the others, they're either fighting or captured. You two need to move."

"Yeah, well, easy for you to say," Nico shot back. "I don't even know how to get out of here, let alone to the Vault of Ashes."

"Then you better figure out soon. You have twenty—Aether, _watch out!_"

It happened too fast for the eye to track. One moment, Pontus was barricading the door. The next, he was crouched over Nyx, looming over her. Nyx screamed, closed her eyes, put her hands over her head, and screamed again, a long, sustained note of fright. Nico shouted in anger and pushed him aside.

Pontus didn't struggle. He fell to the floor with a thud, and only then did Nico realize what had just happened.

The window was broken.

Pontus had taken a blow meant for Nyx.

His face was rapidly losing color, lips turning blue, the veins on his face becoming translucent. A poisoned arrow was cradled in his hands, and blood flowed everywhere, staining the white walls, the white floors.

Fury was replaced by cold, stony dread.

"Hah…" Pontus coughed, and red stained his lips, his pale green eyes flickering closed. "…do you b'lieve me now, Aether? I… never meant for… for this to happen. I am… sorry."

Nico slung Pontus' arm over his shoulders and tried to lift him up, but his injured leg buckled and they both crashed into a tangled heap.

Pontus' breath hitched in pain. The sheer power that flowed off of him as νερό was gone, replaced by tired resignation. Nico could not put this dying Pontus and the killer he was as νερό together in his mind—they were two different personas.

Something cold and wet was pressed into Nico's hand. Pontus was shaking badly now, and it was becoming obvious that he was struggling to speak, the words sticking in his mouth.

"To… Erebus, when you… see him."

Nico looked down at the crumpled paper in his hands, nodded, and stowed it in his pocket. Pontus relaxed when it was out of sight, and slumped against the wall Nico had gently propped him against.

"Peace…" he whispered through cracked lips. "What a… a bitter poison revenge is, on the heart. I have finally… understood."

"Hey, hey, Pontus! Don't go to sleep on me! Pontus?"

Nyx came up from behind. Her face was serious and sad, and for a moment, she looked like the normal Nyx. The light of her eyes were fractured.

"He is dead, Aether. Let him go."

Nico looked down at his bloodstained arms. At some point, he had begun to shake Pontus, but it was becoming clear that he would not wake. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he closed Pontus' eyes.

"I don't… I don't know who to… believe, anymore. He attacked me, he attacked Erebus, but now…"

Nyx knelt next to Pontus' body, and swiped her fingers in the blood that dripped off his damaged armor, swirling them in the liquid until they were coated.

"The angels won't hurt him. But they'll hurt us."

With her index finger, she traced out what seemed to be a triangle. Nico's eyes widened.

The Delta symbol diffused with soft, silver light, the kind that shone as though there was some sort of backlight underneath.

"The Labyrinth…! How did you know?"

Nyx's eyes unfocused, and she opened her mouth. It was as though she was trying to choke out words that were stuck in her throat.

"I… it…"

With a final strangled sound, her eyes cleared. She smiled dreamily at him, and he felt like screaming.

"It's always been here," she murmured. "You just never noticed."

She pressed down. The Delta symbol glowed, and cracks appeared in the ground, literally being carved out as they watched, flecks of white paint peeling from the edges. With a megalithic groan, the top portion slid to the side, revealing a steep drop. Nico craned his head over, and shivered as the Vault _(Tartarus)_ blew putrid air in his face. Picking up a piece of rubble from the debris piled in a small heap on the ground, he let his fingers uncurl, and strained to hear its descent.

There was none. It was a straight drop down.

"Err, Nyx? I don't think this is a v—"

Nyx frowned pensively, clasping her hands. "But Zero's down there," she interrupted pensively. "And we gotta go get him before he turns into an angel too. It's the only way down. And if he turns into an angel, then he'll kill us and he'll be sad, and we'll be sad too."

Suddenly, someone crouched next to the two of them, gazing into Tartarus' depths with a disgusted expression on his face.

"Aether. Nyx. Do not go there. It smells foul."

Cold green-red eyes.

Erebus.

But it wasn't Erebus, was it? This was Void, and Nico could see the slight dissimilarities when he looked closer. The way he acted. _Gods,_ how had he been so stupid?

"Aether, you are alright? You have turned very pale once more. Shall I get a doctor?"

Void mustn't know that Nico had already caught on to his game. Neither he nor Nyx were in a good fighting condition, and even if they were, he doubted the odds would be in his favor. He shook his head frantically, avoiding eye contact.

"No, no, I'm okay. Just tired. Been a long day."

"Ah… if you're sure. Now, come, we must go."

"Go?" Nyx echoed. Her dreamy expression had dissipated, and now her face was blank. Not for the first time did Nico wonder how _much_ of Nyx was still in there, trying to break free.

Void gave them a _look._ It made Nico feel as though he was a very stupid child that was going to be scolded. Nyx must have felt the same way, because she jutted out her chin and gave Void the largest frown she could make, pulling the corners of her mouth down with her fingers.

_"Out,_ of course. Surely, you do not think we will be staying in such an enclosed area during a battle? That is ludicrous. Come, we must hurry."

Nico backed away.

"Er, yeah. Well, P—νερό over there," he gestured at the prone figure lying propped against the wall. His wounds had stopped bleeding now, and in the dim light, it suddenly struck Nico that he looked so much like Percy, "he decided to attack us. And he severed some sort of tendon in my leg. I'm not sure which one, but I can't walk, and it's thrown me off balance."

Void actually cracked a smile. It looked so much like Erebus' that it felt so wrong, and he felt as though he was going to be sick.

"Only you, Aether," he said fondly. "Very well. I shall go into the corridors and check for intruders, then I will come back for the two of you. Stay here. Is this acceptable?"

Nico pasted a fake, fake smile on his lips. He hoped Void didn't notice his abused cheek muscles twitching.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He didn't speak again until he was sure Void had turned the corner. The smile slipped off his face like water. Turning to Nyx, he said in a quick, low voice, urgency painting his tone, "Nyx. Jump. We have no time. That's not Erebus."

Nyx nodded serenely.

"Oh, I know," she said, not giving time for Nico to ask for an explanation.

Her fingers uncurled, and she let go. Rapidly, the darkness at her up, and she was soon lost to sight.

"The coast is clear. What is the matter?" Void asked suddenly, coming back into the room. Nico felt himself stiffen. He'd been sneaked up on so many more times than he'd have liked. The demigod slowly turned around to face him.

"Ah, well, you see…"

"Where is Nyx?"

"Gone. And before I go as well, I'd like to say—

He stepped forwards. There was nothing but empty space underneath his feet.

"—nice try. But you suck at acting."

Void yelled. In anger or shock, he did not know, for his shouts were lost in the howl of the wind, as he plummeted towards Tartarus for the last time.

* * *

><p>The descent wasn't as smooth as he had imagined it would be. There were many dislodged rocks, and when he passed they would fly into the air and hit him, until he's sure he's just one massive bruise that's been cut so many times it's not longer funny.<p>

Cradling his head in his arms to protect his eyes from being gouged out by the daggered wind, he gazed up. The light of the world was a mere pinprick, and soon was gone.

He hit the bottom with a heavy thud. Grunting, he rolled painfully to his feet, blood rushing to his head, making him feel dizzy.

"Nyx?" he mumbled blearily, staggering around like he'd had a little too much to drink.

"Here." Her phantasmagorical voice sounded right next to his ear, and he flinched backwards. Damnit, he really needed to get his reactions under control.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Nyx."

Nyx stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her nose at him.

Aether watched her incredulously. It was so very un-Nyx-like, so unlike the sadistic-yet-gentle being she usually was. Now, he wondered if she would ever be the same again.

_(no, he knew she wouldn't, both of them had seen far too many things for that to be possible)_

Nico pushed Aether's thoughts away, but silently agreed. She was becoming unnerving, and he knew he would have to search for a way to put her back together as soon as they had a chance to breathe.

"Which way do we go?" he asked her.

His voice echoed ominously in the tunnels._ Go, go, go,_ it said, almost like a warning. He didn't need anyone telling him that this place wasn't safe. He felt it, deep inside of him, reverberating with dread.

But Nyx seemed completely at ease. She was smiling.

"This way," she said.

Mystified, Nico followed.

"How you do know where we're going?"

She cocked her head to one side, as though Nico had just asked a very silly question. "Don't you hear him? He's talking to me. He's begging for us to hurry. He's fading, and he says it hurts. Hurry, Aether, we have to turn left at this intersection. We're almost there."

They stop at an empty cavern.

There is nothing there. Nico walked in, expecting to see a tomb, some sort of trap door, Hades —heaven forbid— some sort of torture room. Nothing.

"Er, Nyx? I think we're in the wrong—"

He turned.

She was huddled in a small ball in the middle of the room. Quickly, he rushed to her side, putting one hand on her shoulder.

"Nyx, what—?"

"Nightmares," she whispered. "Angels. chains. Angels, Aether, look."

He followed her pointing finger, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it before.

Tall and imposing, it was made of marble, casting them into shadow. Wings, thick and feathered, sprouted from his back, razor-sharp, extending outwards like that of an avenging angel. A sword, broken and bent, lay and his feet, in pieces. In one hand, dangling from one of his fingers, was a scale.

Justice.

_(justice he never received, how ironic)_

His head was bowed, cast into shadow, one pale hand covering his face mournfully.

Then, faster than Nico could comprehend, the statue's hands were crossed over his chest instead of his face, exposing painfully green eyes—the only source of color among a sea of green. The scale had clattered to the ground. Nico could see that it was broken in two, a jagged fissure splitting it open.

Chains. Too many to count.

They dragged on the ground. Hung from his bound hands, looping around his thumbs. Locking around the odd, misshapen runic collar around his neck. Swaying gently from broken, skeletal wings.

One wrapped around the lower half of his face, binding his mouth closed.

_(they didn't want to hear the truth, so they chained him to a fate worse than death)_

There was an expression of pain over the statue's face, which shouldn't be possible, because it hadn't been there a second ago. Relief was mixed in.

_'Aether…'_

Nico spun in a circle.

"Who said that?!" he demanded, hysteria beginning to rise in his voice despite his best efforts to keep it down.

And suddenly, the angel statue was no more than three feet away, crouching next to them at eye level, one hand thrown to the ground to support himself. The other was wrapped over his torso, as if in deep pain. Those carved eyes were fixed piercingly on the two of them, clouded with delusion and hallucinations.

_'Aether.'_

"Shit, Nyx, it's alive, back away, it's going to kill us, it's gonna rip our heads off and feast on our souls or something. Nyx! Don't go closer! Hey!"

Nyx ignored him. Crawling forward, she flung her arms around the statue's neck and closed her eyes blissfully.

"I've missed you, Zero," she whispered. Her voice was choked. It sounded as though she was going to cry.

_'Nyx.'_

And only then, did Nico finally realize why the statue looked so familiar, and a sick pool of dread welled up in his stomach, wrapping its icy fingers around his throat.

"Erebus?"

The statue smiled. His expression was tired, and it looked as though he had aged thousands of years in the span of several days.

_'Hello, Aether, Nyx. It's been a while.'_


	20. Author's Note—Please Read

As this site has the no-copy code currently in place (a fact I find ironic), links to both The Shadow of Ouranos (author) and Ichor and Blood: Power of Three (story) are on my profile. Even if he changes any of the names, the links shall still go through.

**EDIT**: Well. Apparently, "The Shadow of Ouranos" decided that instead of facing my wrath, it is wiser to flee, and has changed his pen-name to "**Erebus Has Fallen**." Congratulations. You've now made me lose what little shred of hope I still had in you.

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><p><em>"When you realize that Solaerius has actually posted a chapter with nothing but an author's note, that's when you know shit's about to go down."<em>

**Author's Note.**

To my dear readers: please, do not skip this author's note. I have something to say—someone to _congratulate._ Someone to thank. They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all, and I am very, oh so very flattered indeed.

Before you can stand up and proudly proclaim, "I am an author," you must pass a certain milestone, a certain rite of passage, so to speak. And by _god,_ I have passed that rite of passage countless times, and it is beginning to become more of an aggravation than anything else.

So everyone, please, give a warm and _thunderous_ round of applause to one such "author," The Shadow of Ouranos; who, I am sure, is _such_ a fan of Blackened Dawn that he has deemed it necessary to copy-paste entire portions of this story and publish it under his account without giving any notice to me of doing so.

...it's people like this that make me want to scream and jump off a cliff.

Now, I would not have made a fuss if he had told me of this beforehand—asked me, even. I would not have said no. I am very approachable, as some of you may know after contacting me. I do not mind helping others. It's a very happy feeling—a kind of natural warmth.

And I know how it feels to be surrounded with good stories and good ideas, yet are somehow unable to put them into words, to form coherent sentences. Sometimes, all you need is the right push. Believe me when I say that I have been there countless times, and it is a grueling process, but one that is very rewarding indeed.

Enough is enough.

The bane of authors everywhere is plagiarism. There is a very good reason why you are always told not to do copy-paste jobs as a child by your teachers. It can get you into severe trouble.

I am not the merciful type, but I do try to be fair. Whether I succeed or not is up for interpretation.

To those of you worried that _because_ of this incident that I will abandon Blackened Dawn and throw it metaphorically to the wolves, then do not fear. I'm not the kind to punish everyone just because someone decided to rain on my parade. I've made that mistake once with Phantom; I'm not about to do it again.

That being said, the next update may take longer than is usual. Now, I truly know why some authors give up on ever finishing their stories. My muse has decided to shut down. I still know what I want to write and how to get there, but it's as if I've lost the motivation to do so.

I'm not putting Blackened Dawn on indefinite/hiatus, nor any other form of uncertain abandonment. To do so would be petty and unjust, and if I do so, I've just let all of you down.

To paraphrase Virginia Woolf, if the rapier is denied, then I shall run through the enemy with my pen instead. I do not believe in spewing vitriol, to swear incessantly. Contempt inflicts shallow wounds. No, words sharpened to icy points can cut so much deeper than a sword. And such is my blade.

I? I shall not report the story, simply because even if the moderators and admin remove the story from his profile, it has not curbed that tendency inside of the perpetrator. One day, he may —or may not, I am not one to judge _so_ biasedly— do such to another author, and that author will not even know unless a very-appreciated reader (deepest thank-yous, JosephineSilver) reports it to them, like it happened to me.

And I would ask that you do the same.

It would be a burden off my heart if all of you would go and _support_ his story, see how it is to steal the fruits of someone else's labor. It will not taste as sweet, for without tasting the sweat and tears that have come hand-in-hand with success, one cannot enjoy the contrast of sweet and aromatic flavours. It shall leave nothing but sour aftertastes.

If "Ichor and Blood: The Power of Three" is to be cast into the shadowed realm of the forgotten, then I want it to be by the author's own hand.

By shame, not flame.

If any of you think I am acting too harshly—then perhaps I am. Perhaps I am still riding off the wave of anger and bitter _disappointment_ that comes with such a discovery. Perhaps this author isn't such a bad person, and I'm just being, well, me, a pessimist at heart.

And if it seems like I am encouraging everyone to go and flame him, I'm _not._ Right now, I'm trying to be as _polite_ as I can without losing my temper, which is unfortunately been stretched paper-thin over the past few days. All I wish is for him to feel bad about what he has done, and never do so again, not to myself or to other writers.

Blackened Dawn... it was the start. Something I hope will last forever, beyond the barriers of time and mortality.

It was the very first piece of writing that I have ever submitted, and through all of the critique I have gained, and all of the support, it has helped me grow into so much more. For that, I must thank each and every one of you, including flamers. Your angry reviews give me a much-needed laugh. Speaking of which, I've gotten so many "go to Tartarus"-eses that it's become somewhat of a tradition.

I'm going off track, aren't I?

Yes... Blackened Dawn. It holds a place very dear to my heart, and to have it ripped to shreds is soul-shatteringly painful. It's as if you've spent years creating a masterpiece of art, trying to get the correct shades of color, trying to add all of the subtle nuances that would bring the piece to life, only to have your younger brother come and scribble over it with a red sharpie.

A last note, dedicated to The Shadow of Ouranos — all I ask of you is to **explain yourself.** Perhaps my interpretation of you is severely wrong. Perhaps it is by mere _coincidence_ that your three thousand of words are exact copies of three thousand of mine. Perhaps you are the kind that can own up to a mistake and start anew, no hard feelings. If so, then I will not hold it against you. If not... then I shall not regret what I have said, and you shall truly see the unedited, unfiltered, severely pissed off side of Solaerius.

Lastly, I apologize once more for all of this confusion, and if I have uttered anything that has hurt anyone, please forgive me. I am just... in a compromised state at the moment. I have tried to wait a few days and to give myself a chance to calm down, but once I began to write this note, it has become apparent to me that I am anything but calm at this moment.

And to any of you considering to plagiarize a writer's work: seriously, _don't_ do it. We don't need Hallowe'en to be scary. It comes in the job description.


	21. Perthro (Prophecy)

**Author's Note**—It's been... two months? I am quite sorry about the delay. I had an exam, just yesterday, and it was taking a toll on any free time I had.

Regarding "Erebus has Fallen," he has apologized. He says he copied "Blackened Dawn" because he did not know how to start his own story, and that he has PM'd me for help, but I have never replied. Well. I am sure I have received no such thing.

But, moving on, I must say that I am very grateful for all that you guys have done, because without you, Ichor and Blood would still be up—or I wouldn't even have known about it, for that matter. So, thank you :) You're awesome.

(I'm leaving the author's note as is, though. It's too glorious to wipe from the face of the earth)

**Chapter's Note**—do not worry if anything does not make sense. It shall be explained in the next update.

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>—as I have both Ch. 19 and Ch. 20 replies to get to, they have been separated into the two categories, respectively. If you've commented for both chapters, then your review will be answered/responded to in both.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 19<strong>

**_Tally Jennifer Youngblood_**_ -_ oh, well, why thank you :) _**NegatorTheBalance**_ - not long, I assure you. She shall be fine in this chapter. The forced merge with Thalia did not bode well for her general sanity. **_VestalVirginsOfRome_** - thank you! Many people don't like the ambiguity, or so they have told me. Nevertheless, I'm very happy you like it. _**Spartacus365**_ - thank you. _**Impstar**_ - I'm of the belief that the worst changes in a person are the ones that cannot be easily seen, so if Percy/Erebus seems perfectly normal to you this chapter, look closer ;) **_Tears of a Spirit -_ **you sure do work fast. Congratulations! That's something to be proud of. _**Darkmoon111**_ - thank you! I'm glad you like it, and I can only hope this chapter does not disappoint. _**Harmonic Bunny** _- I'm not quite sure I follow, but Percy became Erebus when his dip in the Styx broke apart the barrier separating his memories, and from then on, began to merge together. After Death brought him into Ordis, he took on the name of Erebus. _**Red Lightning Bolt** _- yes! Percy/Erebus has been released from the Vault (I've left hints and clues, but complete details shall come at a later chapter) and their reunion is coming very soon :) _**AlphaOmega314**_ - thank you! _**Menaphite**_ - ah, but has νερό ever been known for telling the truth? Remember, a Primordial cannot live without their opposite... And yes, unfortunately, about half of my alert box is filled with those stories. I have a massive amount of backlog to catch up on. **_Leftover Meal_ -** thank you! I'm happy you liked it. _**Nomoreturningaway**_ - ah, if only! Alas, I think most people would get so annoyed they wouldn't even bother playing... but thank you :) _**prince of the seas-** _thank you. _**EpicReads** _- thank you! I hope this chapter will not disappoint. _**Guest**_ - thank you! _**Victor** **Souza**_ - thank you :) _**Clefspear**_ - thank you! _**percypigs**_ - is νερό truly a "good" character? That is much of the question, is it not? I can only say to look closer at his motives, for not all is as it seems...

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 20<strong>

**_Guest_** - is that so? Then, that is worse. _**TheNightRaven**_ - thank you, _truly._ I'm happy you like the story, thus far, and can only hope that these future chapters will not disappoint!** Futon Lord** - oh, well, why thank you ;) I must admit that there was satirical fun to be wrought, even in such circumstances. It truly is quite an irritation. _**lksjdf**_ - thank you for letting me know. _**SpartanWarrior117**_ - thank you, for everything. I'm glad you liked it! **_Leftover Meal_ **- I won't :) thank you. I'm quite sorry for the long gap between updates. _**Clefspear**_ - I'd already run out in my head! Thank you :) _**NegatortheBalance**_ - then say hi to End for me, and thanks. _**1L2Y3R4A**_ - thanks! _**Red Lightning Bolt** _- awe, thank you ^^ I'm touched. _**BurningBunny**_ - well, isn't someone feeling all sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns today. But that is correct. **_Xuan Tian Shang Di -_** thank you! (grins, cackles a bit) _**Tears of a Spirit**_ - and for that, I thank you! You're awesome. **_Dead Apostle_ **- yes. Fortunately. _**Intellectually**_ - I can truthfully say that νερό is not going down so easily. I agree with your Order-Orochimaru statement, but the worst kind of enemy is the kind you can't see until it's impossible to counteract. Is Order truly the manipulator, or the manipulated? At any rate, thank you for commenting, and I hope this chapter shall not disappoint! _**Shut up Steven**_ - I think I do agree with you there._** Lucio BetaBlake** _- it's not going on hiatus, don't worry! _**Dragon Silhouette** _- thank you! I'm very happy you like it, but if there is anything utterly confusing, do not hesitate in asking. _**Nomoreturningaway**_ - unfortunately, that's true. I'll really try to keep this story going—I already have the epilogue written out! _**the. PRESENT ****.pheasant**_ - alas, I must say I'm not very caught up in the DW fandom, as of late. I do have friends who have an infatuation with the show, and will burst out laughing at every unintentional reference ("I don't want to go.")._** i refuse to prove that i exist -**_ not... quite. _**psychedelicLights**_ - well, I hope they weren't tears of frustration, as I am oft to do._** Starlit jewel** _- thank you! I'm glad you like it, and that you have your school work done, too. Here is the next chapter! :) _**Reader**_ - I won't. Promise! _**Guest**_ - the first time this happened to me (quite a while back, actually) I had contemplated such a thought, but I am glad now that I stuck through. **_Guest_** - here it is! _**Guest**_ - anything in particular? _**Guest**_ - thank you! :) _**aesir21**_ - so you have wished it, and so it shall be. Earth appears in this chapter. _**Guest**_ - well, have no fear, for this one is. _**huntergo123**_ - slow buildup. I like the pairing, but I'm not one for sudden romances. _**sudeepsonofposeidon**_ - thank you! :) I'm happy you like it. _**MortalFantasy0002**_ - ah, forgive me for that. The end is fast approaching, yet there is so much more to say... Hopefully, by the end, it shall all fall into place. Nevertheless, I'm glad you like it :) _**PhoenixFire2013**_ - anything in particular? _**j.a. g. demmin **_ - thank you!

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><p>-X-<p>

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><p>"I am not the forgiving type, Poseidon of the Olympians," Erebus said, crossing his arms in warning, a cold sneer written across his face, briefly breaking his stoic mask. "And I would advise you to get out of here before I go back on my decision to spare your life."<p>

"You can't kill a god," Apollo muttered, albeit less assuredly than he usually would have.

"You would not like to try us." This time, it was Nyx who spoke. "Nothing is truly invincible. Nothing is truly immortal."

Poseidon looked regretful. "I can see this won't work. We will have to return to our own realm soon, in a few more days, and leave Ordis. Please give our thanks to Order for his hospitality. But if you ever change your mind, we'll be—"

"Mount Olympus, Empire State Building, sixth-hundred floor. We know. But be assured—"

"—we shall not. This is goodbye."

With one more distrustful glare over her shoulder, Nyx followed Erebus, and they were gone in a hiss of darkness. Hermes ground his teeth in frustration, his mischievous smile replaced by a deep frown.

"What have we done to make them hate us so much? Have I missed the memo?"

Poseidon sighed and closed his eyes.

"I do not know, Hermes. I cannot be sure."

The silence was broken by Apollo's sudden, "Hey, wait, where's my sword? I swear I left it right here..."

Artemis grimaced at her twin.

"You probably left it back in your room. You can look for it later. Right now, we should scout around. And, Uncle Poseidon," she turned to the despondent sea god, "we can talk to them later, after Endless gets back from patrol duty. It shouldn't take long, I would think."

With a small nod, the Olympians dispersed.

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><p>-X-<p>

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><p><strong>Perthro<strong>  
>Ʃ<p>

_Rune for prophecy, obscurity, the unknown._

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><p>The first thing that Nico thought was that this wasn't Erebus, because the Erebus he knew would never have been so cold.<p>

His skin bore no taint of human suppleness, nor radiated any form of warmth. Being within a certain radius to him was like being locked in a freezer with nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of shorts —wholly inadequate to protect against the onslaught.

_'Aether...'_

He shook his head and stepped backwards, shaking off Nyx's clutches, and nearly tripped over his own feet in his blind panic.

"No… no. No. You're not him. You can't."

_'Aether, look at me_,' Erebus said, an almost gentle, patronizing tone in his voice. There were heavy rings under his eyes, marring it the faintest shade of grey—the color of beguiled storm clouds.

He was afraid of the unfamiliarity he would see, and if he deluded himself for a moment longer, he could almost pretend that what was out of sight was also out of mind. But there was something challenging about Erebus' tone, and against his will, his gaze flew upwards.

In a thick, heavy kind of dread, he took in the set of Erebus' mouth, the shape of his eyes —so similar to that of his own— the way he carried himself in the face of danger, and it was with a sick feeling in his gut did he realize that they were one and the same.

Hesitating, Nico's fingers brushed against the statue's arm.

He felt as though he'd touched liquid nitrogen, as though the cold had become tangible, seeping into his skin, freezing his veins, moving towards his heart, yearning to stop its too-fast palpitations.

"Erebus," he whispered softly.

The Primordial bore his incredulous gaping with a patient air—at least, he hoped his stony countenance was one of patience. A half smile adorned one side of his mouth, a pale, weak gesture that held no weight. That warm undertone he'd taken for granted was gone, leaving nothing but biting frost.

Erebus was fading. They had come too late.

In a sudden paroxysm of desperation, Nico surged forward and grasped Erebus' wrists, ignoring the hoarfrost snaked up his own fingers, turning them blue; he said, strength wavering in his voice, "We're here now. We're not leaving. We'll get you out of this—don't worry. Just hang on."

They were empty words. Already, Nico could look through his chest and see the other side of the room.

_'You must go,'_ Erebus said through gritted teeth. His eyes were pressed together tightly, as if that gesture alone would force back the pain. _'I—I cannot—'_

White mist leeched from his mouth, as though it was a string and an invisible hand was pulling it towards the center of the room. The side of his face was melting, marble oozing down in milky white veins, dripping onto the ground.

A candle to flame.

Between gasping breaths, Erebus shouted something at them, but his exact words were lost in the howl of the wind.

He might've told them to get down.

He might have told them to run.

He might have been telling them any multitude of things, but Nico's attention was fixated on the purplish, thick, rope-like scars beginning to twine around his hands, snaking through marble, bursting it apart in a shatter of stone. And soon, it covered more than half his body, the poisonous marks racing ever higher, consuming marble, dissolving into dust.

_'You must hurry,'_ he snarled. When Nico was frozen to his spot, words a stuttering, incoherent mess, Erebus shut his eyes in pain, a half-moaning, half-protesting wordless sound slurring out of his throat._ 'Seek out my true form, and you shall find the answers you desire.'_

"Wait," Nico said suddenly. "_What_?"

There was no more time for pointless, inane questions. The scars were creeping up his neck, sliding over one side of his face, melting it into a shapeless puddle that slipped down his cheek in molten rivulets.

_'I am Erebus' subconscious,_' the statue said._ 'I am a part of him.'_

The truth struck him, hard and fast, like an anvil descending upon a piece of red-hot metal.

"—you're his soul, aren't you."

Erebus dipped his head in silent assertion.

The movement threw him into the harsh relief of the luminescent walls. Something was dripping beneath the high collar of his armor, and it was only then that Nico noticed how he was slightly hunched forward, one hand protectively pressed to his chest.

There was a hole where his heart should have been.

The parasitic infestation crawled through. Red streams cut through white.

It seemed inconceivable to Nico's stunned mind that a Primordial's body could possess so much blood.

"Oh gods," he dropped his sword —Aether's sword— and it rolled away to lie in a puddle of blood, "it's alright, don't—hey, don't close your eyes, look at me, don't you dare—"

Erebus gently closed his hand over Nico's arm, stopping his frantic movements. He froze as if he'd been turned to stone.

For an instant, as their eyes met, Nico had the sudden impression that Erebus saw _exactly_ through his masquerade, and he _smiled_—a smile for Nico, not for Aether. There was something final about the tone in his voice.

_'Goodbye, Aether. Seek help. This is not an enemy you can defeat alone. Hope survives best at the hearth.'_

As Aether, he'd seen things far worse and far more terrible… but none made him feel as though the air had been knocked from his lungs, leaving his vision a haze of red fog. As Nico, he'd experienced loss and longing, but nothing so, so sharp, so fierce and acerbic.

Erebus' smile became cracked.

His entire form grew black and withered, cracks appearing in the once-polished marble with a sound akin to gunshot, resounding through the room, bathing the world crimson as red light shattered through the fractures. His hand dropped away from Nico's.

"Erebus—_no_!"

His cry went unheeded, and the world exploded in a cacophony of light and sound.

Nico tried to see through the poisonous radiance emanating from the fulmination, but it was too thick and too heavy. He could barely see his own nose. It was nigh impossible, and when he lunged forward in desperation, his hands closed over nothing.

A sick, sick feeling rose up in his gut, a dark kind of premonition. He struggled to breathe through the elephant that had decided to sit on his chest.

His vision turned black. The roar of the explosion was abruptly cut off. For an instant, he thought he had gone blind.

When he blinked the stars out of his eyes and the ringing from his ears finally ceased, only echoes were there to greet him.

The place where Erebus had once stood was empty, save for a deep, black scorch mark expanding outwards.

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>For an hour or so, there was nothing but the silence to accompany Reyna's thoughts. Nothing but the scratch of her pen and the occasional swish of shuffling papers.<p>

Then, something screeched across her window.

It was a quiet, light sound, soft and barely discernible in the embrace of nightfall, but it was so close at hand that she was startled out of her lethargic state almost immediately.

The hilt of her spear was reassuring in her hand, its heavy weight beautifully familiar. She crept to the window, and cautiously, looked out.

Her palm pressed against the glass, forming a perfect circle of bloodless white, and her erratic breaths clouded the window from the inside. The moon was fuzzy, fuzzy and white, a soft kind of colour.

It was beginning to rain. Thick, fat drops of water lashed down from the heavens. In the curtain of vapour, Reyna saw a dark silhouette through the glass of her window, distorted around the edges.

A hand reached out. For her. Closer than ever before. She could see a featureless face, a thin, languid body.

Then, that sound again, like fingernails were dragging against chalkboards, thin and screeching.

She cursed.

A dark figure blocked out the moon.

With a loud cry, she jumped backwards, immediately grasping for a knife. Her head slammed against something hard, and her vision fogged over for a few scant seconds. When she blinked away the reflexive tears, the moon focused once more, sharp and pinpricked.

There was nothing else there—

—save for a handprint, fading fast in the condensation.

Eyes glared back, a burning, verdant green, feral and completely wild. Slitted like a hawk's, like a predator's, staring down at her, boring holes through her body like she wasn't there at all.

The ground was a blurred grey, reminiscent to smoke, writhing and twisting into shapes.

She had only a fraction of a seconds' warning before her window shattered.

The fragments had not even touched the ground. Darkness formed tangible tendrils, crushing the pieces, with blue-black blood dripping onto the ground, vanishing in a hiss of mist.

There was a sharp, terrible smile, the kind that was much too chaotic to be anywhere remotely related to a smile. Perfect lips formed final words. They were said in a mocking, satirical tone of voice, as if the very notion of such a thing was ludicrous.

"Goodbye, _my love."_

Red flashed.

She watched in numb incomprehension as little poppies slicked the floor, rubies and diamonds and glittering jewels.

_(not all that glitters is gold)_

And the figure, the figure with the black hair and the green eyes, the one that had set fire to her home, laughed.

-o-

Reyna awoke as the candlelight guttered and died.

For a moment, there was nothing but darkness, pressing in on all sides. It was lit only by sparse flashes of lightning, followed by a mighty, throaty roar that shook the house to its roots, making the windowpanes rattle. Rain leaked in, a thin trickle of dun colored liquid, seeping in from the overflowing sill.

She pushed herself to a sitting position, still blinking tiredness from her eyes. Her palms sunk into the warm hollows of the bed, and she hesitated for a second longer, wanting nothing more than to sink back into sleep's comforting embrace.

A second growl of thunder warned her off. It sounded like a laugh. A taunting, mocking sound.

With a shivered sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled hair and let her legs slip from under the covers. The biting Cold trailed his fingers along her exposed skin, smiling mischieviously, kissing the edge of her collarbone, her smooth arms, unmarred—save for a few battle scars and the SPQR tattoo emblazoned in rough abandon, rippling with the black light.

She stared at it for a few more moments, then looked away, thoroughly disillusioned by the twisting feeling in her gut.

Her bare feet ghosted over laminated wooden planks, chilled with the incoming frost of winter. Reyna cursed her inane decision to wear a sleeveless nightgown in such frigid conditions, crossing her arms in a vain attempt to restore some semblance of warmth to her icy fingertips.

_(of course, in the back of her deepest, darkest desires, she knew the reason, but the forefront of her subconscious refused to accept it)_

She drew back the curtains with a rough jerk, fingers tangling viciously around silken gauze, exposing the clouded window.

There was no light.

Storms, resplendent with a form of terrible glory, broiled bitter-black over the horizons, ghosting a thick, damp caress over the world, milky fingers of rain lashing down from the open skies. The inconsistent sounds of rain glancing off the walls, reverberating within the hollow cabins, was uncomfortably loud, and Reyna had the sudden discomfiting feeling that if she were to open the cabin doors, she would be swept away by the gods' fury.

Lightning forked over the sky, a white-hot sizzle knifing easily through the stewing heavens.

Another boom of thunder.

Absently twirling an idle strand of hair between her fingers, Reyna's eyes flicked to the custom-made clock (technology and demigods did not make for a particularly explosion-free environment).

Barely two.

She doubted she would be able to fall back asleep, even though she'd only had about three hours of rest—if that.

Exhaling slowly, Reyna shook her hair loose and began to twist it back into its usual braid, wincing whenever a tangle caught on her fingers. Her nightgown, a creamy white, almost seemed to glow in the darkness, clinging to her body in ways that left little to imagination.

And she suddenly understood why she felt so cold, why she felt so uncomfortably wet, why her dress was much too tight.

Thunder again. Louder than before. More raw, more unprotected.

For there was no window. The hole cut into the wall was toothless and gaping, narrow ridges of glass spiking the edges. It was as if the glass had been...

That sound again. The fingernails. The keening, shrill screech.

_(blown off into pieces, consumed by the shadows itself)_

—but no, there it was again. And again. No... Reyna froze.

Her hand slipped immediately for a dagger, relaxing only marginally as its worn handle closed within her grip. She held it in an ice-pick grip, and crept forward, down the bannisters, down the stairs, careful to stay within range of the shadows.

In a smooth, snaking motion, she flung the door open, hooked one arm around the intruder's neck, and held the dagger over his heart. The intruder made no movements, other than to raise his hands, as if in surrender.

"Reyna," he said, his voice tired, "it's just me. Jason."

Her hands slackened their grip, but as soon as he began to straighten, she caught him off balance, slamming him into the wall. Cracks spread upon impact.

"If you think I shall fall for that trick, then you are sorely mistaken. Prove your claim," she snapped instantly, tightening the chokehold she had on him, her breath hot on his neck.

There was an indignant sigh, and then blue eyes flicked up at her, flecked with specks of black. His hair had been drenched through, turning it almost brown. Rings of dark, dark black circled his irises, and coupled with the heavy shadows under his eyes, he looked ill, like a walking corpse.

In an instant, calloused hands had gripped her wrists, hard enough to shove her away but not enough to bruise. Taking her momentary surprise, he pushed her in through the door and kicked it shut behind him, effectively blocking off all sounds of the raging storm outside.

He attacked her with a hungry, fervent passion, capturing her lips in a furious entanglement, rough and needy and full of lust. She gently took his hands before both of their self controls fizzled into nothing, pulling them apart, running her teeth over her swollen lip.

_"Mierda,_ Jason, this isn't like you. What is wrong?"

Jason's glance cast downwards, and the fierce desperation was abruptly replaced with a slow-burning anger, like that of coals being stoked by a hot poker.

"Nothing," he muttered darkly, scuffing little designs with his foot. He was dressed in full armor. Sodding armor. With a sigh, Reyna threw him onto the couch with a barked order to change his clothes before he caught a cold, and _godsdamnit,_ he better be presentable when she came back.

A sly, secretive voice inside her head smirked, and whispered, _'You wouldn't mind much if he weren't.'_

_(shut up, shut up, just go die in a hole, leave me alone)_

She backed out of the living room, cheeks a dark red.

With several breaths to steady her thudding heart, she took the stairs two at a time, coming to her sleeping chambers and pushing the door open on well oiled hinges. With quick, deft motions, she snapped the curtains back shut, slipping out of her drenched nightgown, throwing it onto the bed, too tired to care if it soaked through the mattress.

Pulling her armor on from where it lay in pieces on her table, she tied down the straps, smoothing down the wrinkles. Slinging her purple cloak over her shoulders, she felt the familiar heavy weight of the ornamental medallions settle against her chest.

Then, and only then, did she allow her shaky composure to seep through.

"By the gods," she breathed to herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jason's intensity was frightening in ways she could not describe. His lips, stretched by that wicked, sharp smile, reminiscent to that of a snake's—too thin and too sharp, cut deeper than a whip, refused to be washed from her memory.

With that thought in mind, she descended the stairs and turned the corner to the living room, she saw with a disappointed bemusement that Jason was perfectly presentable, and was currently towelling his hair dry, making it stand up on all ends like that of a ruffled chick's.

"Are you going to tell me now, Jason, or must I pry every single word from you? You _do_ owe me, for getting my carpet all wet and muddy, and for waking me up at two in the morning."

Her irritated tone was entirely forced and strained, but Jason did not notice the worry seeping through. He sighed, dropping the towel onto the couch, a wet puddle seeping through rich fabric.

"For what it's still worth, I really am sorry, for waking you up and messing up your house, but—"

"—but you can't say," Reyna finished flatly. Jason's head snapped up in surprise. Her knuckles tightened, turning a bloodless white. "I know you well, Jason. I know what you are going to say before it even leaves your mouth."

Jason blinked in surprise. A sharp knock, partly drowned out by thunder, cut through his uneasy speech, and he turned, obviously relieved at the momentary distraction.

"Reyna... I—"

However, the respite was short lived.

The door opened, and a cold voice drifted in through the hazed air, half-caught between annoyance and concealed amusement.

"Surely, it should not take you such a long time to fetch your fellow praetor, while on duty," Octavian said. His titanium blonde hair clung to his forehead, making his wicked eyes gleam sharper and more terrible in contrast. "Or is it to say that you are incapable for the job, _Jason?"_

Jason ground his teeth audibly, but remained silent.

Triumphant, Octavian turned to Reyna, a fierce grin revealing his teeth, which were oddly, unnervingly white against the backdrop of his sickly coloured countenance.

"And yourself, Reyna? _Duty_ is surely something you understand. It is a very notion that has been branded into us from the time of our conception."

Black glittered against milk-white skin, covered by thin cloths, as if in shame to rear its ugly head.

SPQR.

Senatus Populusque Romanus.

Reyna stared at the blackened tattoo emblazoned into her skin, dark against caramel, before dropping her arm and pointedly looking away. The praetor cloak weighed her down, golden medallions glittering in the first light of dawn.

_"—swear to uphold the legion's honor—"_

Duty. A golden cage.

"What are you saying, Octavian?" she finally said, gazing down at the scene of Camp Jupiter spread in resplendence from the window in front of her. Columns of white marble gleamed coldly in the light of the rising sun, the color of Argentum's sleek silver body.

The augur shifted, the sacrificial knife in his hand hesitating before being sheathed.

"Bad tidings," he muttered shortly. _"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."_

"Beware of Greeks bearing gifts," Reyna mirrored instantly, tilting her head to the side and scrutinizing Octavian through narrowed eyes. "Is there a reason you are paraphrasing that statement, Octavian?"

Octavian finally turned around the full way, rigid shadows playing over his face. His hair was pale as his face, giving in to a sickly hue that was only highlighted by the heavy, dark bags outlining his eyes. He hadn't slept any better than she did.

Reyna felt a slight twinge of pity for the legacy, but it was soon wiped away when he hissed out, "Exactly what it means. Surely, you are able to understand a simple statement, _praetor?"_

The last word was said in a mocking tone. Reyna stiffened and lifted her chin, sneering down at him.

"I assure you that I do," she informed him acidly. Octavian's jaw clenched and unclenched, a vein in his temple throbbing with blue-blood.

He wanted a confrontation; he was making it clear. She was not going to sink to his level and give him the satisfaction. She would match him, word for word, but would not rise up to the bait.

Seizing her opportunity, she pressed forward. "Surely, there is some reason you are here, Octavian?"

Octavian shuffled his feet and scowled darkly. From beneath his jacket, he precariously extracted several tightly rolled sheafs of paper, crinkled around the edges from the rain. Unrolling it with a sharp snap, he threw the documents at Reyna, who caught it deftly.

"These are maps," she frowned, bringing it closer to her face to make out the minute squiggles, "and some sort of path has been traced onto them, correct?"

When she looked up, Octavian had his arms crossed, but it was frankly difficult to be angry at him when he looked like a forlorn, shivering puppy, so with an exasperated sigh, she scooped up Jason's discarded towel with one hand and flung it at the augur.

Octavian was not expecting the gruff gesture. It hit him in the face, clinging to him like an octopus, before he peeled it off with a surprised sound.

"You're getting more water on my floor," Reyna said shortly, and turned back to the maps, pretending not to see the slight, barely discernable shadow of Octavian's lips trail into a thin smile.

After a long, pregnant but comfortable silence, Jason cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well... what is it?"

Reyna cast her eyes in his direction. "I thought you knew already."

Jason mumbled something incoherent under his breath. Octavian stepped forward, took the maps carefully from Reyna's hands, and pinned it to the soft-wooded board adorning the wall of the living room. The raspy edges curled. A thin trickle of water slipped down his sleeve. He paid it no attention.

"Three days ago, the gods of Olympus reported a disturbing spike of power, one dwarfing theirs sevenfold. Surely, you have felt it. The entire Camp has."

"The Sickness," Reyna nodded. "That would offer a reasonable explanation as to why three-quarters of the demigods have shown symptoms of radiation poisoning. However," here, her eyes narrowed, "are we to be worried about the Camp being attacked while in such a state? Biological warfare is unconventional, but not uncommon, either."

Octavian shook his head. His hand shifted underneath his protective, armor-like vest, but instead of a weapon, only a small, insignificant plastic container lay flat against his palm, rolling slightly with the momentum of his hand's trembling.

"No. It was an unintentional effect—as far as we can tell, at any rate. Oddly enough, there have been no extreme threats to our safety, not since Tartaros fled a mere three days hence. You may see for yourself; the gods have lent us an odd device that can be used only once."

Quicker than her eye could follow, he had twisted apart the film-canister shaped cylinder, and thick, white mist issued in a thick font of opalescence. There was a glint of metal—an odd coin, and it shimmered, vanishing as it left Octavian's open palm.

"Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, show me the message the gods have left for us."

The mist shivered into a cohesive image, ganglion fibers of mist occluding the surface. A thin, cool voice emanated from the image, and Reyna could vaguely make out a mortal anchorman speaking, the motion of her lips mismatched with the sound.

_'—astronomers are in investigation of the asteroid that entered Earth's atmosphere three days ago, which had come without prior notice from surveillance satellites. Results are currently unknown. Witnesses report hearing a..."_ the newscaster's voice trailed off, and a new voice took her place, this one still caught within the frenzies of terrified excitement.

_'I swear—I swear it came out of nowhere. One moment, the sky was nice and blue, and then, it was literally as though the entire sky had been replaced with fire—that was how consuming it was. I looked up, and that was all there is. Fire. Heat, and the pressure, and I couldn't breathe, and I thought we were all gonna die or get burnt up like the dinosaurs did.'_

_'Another eyewitness claims to have—'_

_'It was too hot. __Glass melted, faster than ice in a desert, pooling on the ground in a big puddle. I felt like I was choking on some sort of... power. Like when you're at a rock concert and the bass is so loud you can't breathe, only thousands of times worse. __Worse than anything on earth. A lot of people fainted on the spot. I did too. I was lucky—I had taken cover, and I guess my guardian angel saved me. A lot of other people just... burned up into ashes._

_'The last thing I remember is a sonic boom, only thousands of times louder—and maybe voices, powerful ones. I've never really believed in aliens, but if those are the things out there, I'd say we're all done for.'_

The anchorman cleared her throat once more, her prim and proper countenance a stark contrast to those of the witnesses.

_'—we have reason to believe that the asteroid has touched down in Alaska, and our prayers go with those affected by this calamity. Relief teams have been sent immediately, and full investigations are now underway.'_

Jason swiped his hand through the image, a perplexed look on his face making the scar on his upper lip form a sad parabola.

"That was most definitely not an asteroid."

"No," Reyna agreed. A sudden revelation struck her, and she cleared her throat. "Octavian, neither you or I are sick, and Hazel and Frank were well the last time I have seen them. Does this have something to do with our exposure to power on Ordis?"

"That is what the gods are expecting," a soft voice said, cutting in before Octavian could answer.

Reyna turned to see Gwen. A wracking cough continually shook her thin shoulders, and heavy, dark circles under her eyes made her look more emaciated than before. Frank was pushing her wheelchair, insisting all the while, "Gwen, you need to rest; doctor's orders—"

"Frank," she cut in gently, but with an assertive firmness that made his mouth snap shut, "I must. And you and I both know I am the one—excluding our praetors, Octavian, yourself, and Hazel, of course—least affected by this sudden sickness."

When she turned to the others, there was a determined gleam in her eye, the kind that darkened the usual light and vibrant colours.

"Do you remember? In your report, you said that Order mentioned something about a brewing civil war in their dimension. The gods think that maybe something's happened and the Primordials have fled. Some have come to Earth; for what reasons, we aren't sure. And we don't know if they're the friendly or hostile sort, either."

"Wonderful," Reyna snapped, in a rare moment of irritability. The tension from the last few days snapped what little resistance she still had on her temper. "So, we have rogue immortals around that could destroy the world with snap of their fingers, not to mention a war of our own to worry about."

Gwen tried to reassure her.

"No!" she said, her voice cracking from strain. "It may not be as bad as we imagine. I mean, Terra is a Primordial as well, isn't she? And our diplomatic mission to Ordis failed, but maybe we can... can..."

Her voice rapidly dissolved into a series of hacking coughs. Her face scrunched tighter in pain, and one hand was flung helplessly over her mouth. Reyna's annoyance quickly melted into an imperceptible tinge of concern.

"Take her back to the infirmary, Frank." When Gwendolyn attempted to argue between wheezing breaths, she added, "and that's an order."

"Yes, Reyna," Frank muttered.

Taking her nod as a dismissal, he knelt respectfully, sloughing back into the rain, and soon he was nothing more than a grey blur upon a backdrop of shades caught somewhere between black and white.

"You are requesting a quest, are you not?" she finally said, tearing her eyes away from the locked door as if it were the solution to all of her problems. "And you have come for permission."

"Was it really so obvious?" Octavian replied. "Then I shall give you my proposal. Three half-bloods will go to the Alaska to seek out the Primordials, and to determine their allegiances. Even the mortals will grow suspicious at such a scene, and by no means necessary can they discover our existence."

An odd prickling numbed the back of Reyna's head, and the world felt fuzzy.

"I will lead this quest," she suddenly blurted out.

Immediately, Jason stood up in protest, the papers in his lap scattering into an off-white shade of butterfly wings.

"Absolutely not," he snarled, a protective growl in his voice, sending chills down her spine. She pressed her lips tighter together, until it had disappeared altogether. While she was indecisive before, now, she was absolutely certain.

"I _will_ be going, Jason," she said, her voice tight and clenched. "And I shall bring Frank and Hazel with me."

Jason's chin jutted up stubbornly.

"Then I will come with you."

"No," Octavian disagreed. "It's only a matter of time before you contract the Sickness as well. You do not wish to be anywhere near _a _Primordial while you are not in peak condition, let alone however many have touched down in Alaska."

When Jason did not look even remotely convinced, Reyna sighed and said, "Jason. We are losing the war. Many of the gods—Jupiter, Pluto, Minerva—have already been imprisoned within the Pit. The Camp barely survived the Titan War. We cannot afford another. We need help, even if from hostile forces."

Jason flinched at her blunt brutality.

"I will send some of the Greeks here, the ones who were with us on Ordis, or if they will not, trusted allies will suffice. They have their own camp to take care of, but they would not be struck as hard."

Jason nodded grudgingly at Reyna. Octavian did not look happy, but he bit his tongue and said nothing.

"Then it is settled." She straightened abruptly, her cloak brushing her ankles. "We will be leaving tomorrow at dawn."

And with a short nod to both Jason and Octavian, Reyna was lost to sight, merely a grey blur in a backdrop of even darker blacks, and that was all.

* * *

><p>Reyna left the next morning without saying goodbye to Jason. There was an insistent gnawing in the pit of her stomach, a kind of restless premonition that stirred her heart and made it difficult to breathe.<p>

"Reyna?" Hazel asked in worry, her honey eyes flickering to meet dark ones. "Are you alright? The Sickness..."

"I am fine," she soothed. "Only thoughts plague me. It is of little consequence."

"About the trip?"

"About everything. In Alaska, we are beyond the reach of the gods. If anything were to go wrong, we must have plans."

Hazel chewed her lip, indecision shadowing her face in a dark cloud. Reyna watched her patiently, knowing that if it were truly important, Hazel would not keep it secret.

"It's nothing, I guess. I think the Greyhound is here. I'll go check."

Her eyebrows shot up—it was clear to both of them that she was lying, but Reyna only gave her a stiff nod and prowled forwards, dropping the conversation for the time being. She would have to have faith. There was no room for civil doubt, not in the depths of such a war.

"Alright, Hazel. Is Frank ready to go? We will be leaving in ten minutes."

"Yep," Frank said, approaching from the opposite direction, hands stuffed in his pockets. She could see a thin knife clutched in his palm, winking dully, a sly, malevolent eye. "Let's go."

-o-

The majority of the trip was uneventful. The Greyhound only took them to Seattle, as there were no stops in Alaska. It would have been easier to simply fly to their destination, but Hazel, being a daughter of Pluto, would incite Jupiter's wrath.

Of course, they would have to take a ferry from Seattle to Alaska, but Neptune usually was not as volatile as his brother, and generally more understanding of their situations.

Several times, they were attacked by monsters, but they were easily fought off...

—almost too easily.

It was almost as if the main bulk of the Giant army was waiting for them to make the next move, ready to ambush and kill them all.

"Keep an eye out, Hazel, Frank," she muttered, uneasiness crawling down her spine, uncomfortably cold in the suddenly frigid night."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Hazel muttered. She was paper white underneath her tan. Water had always frightened her, as did any sane child of Pluto.

A young man slid into the seat next to Reyna, a bemused smile written across his face. She stiffened, but did not move, even as he stretched his arms over his head leisurely and yawned, then grinned, as though he'd been caught doing something very embarrassing,

"So, you're off to Alaska, too?"

He had silver-white hair and dark blue eyes—a combination that instantly set off alarms in Reyna's head.

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "Just looking around."

He wrinkled his nose. "I dunno what you'd want to see there. Not much of a tourist town, 'cept for the creatures and all that. All ice and snow."

"It'll be a nice change of scene. You've been to Alaska before, I suppose?"

He scoffed good-naturedly. "Been there? I lived there for quite a long time. Going back to visit some family. Haven't seen them in a while."

Reyna was not in the mood for idle conversation, but there was a bright smile on his face, and she did not have the heart to tell him to shut up.

"Oh?"

A shadowed countenance. Quick as the day that fades into night.

"Yes. An uncle, specifically. I guess you can call him that. I have a big family. Sometimes, even I lose track."

Thinking of the gods, and all of their... exploitions, she nodded grudgingly and said, "I do as well. What is he like? Your uncle."

"Ah... cold, I guess you could call him. Very cold, but powerful in that kind of silent way. And he's not very fond of me, or my brothers, for some reason or another. We had a falling out a while back."

Surreptitiously, Reyna motioned behind her back for Frank and Hazel to remain alert. She could feel premonition stirring, deep in her chest, a hollow drum, murmuring warnings of things to come.

"I see," said she, distracted. The words of the prophecy rang hollowly in her ears.

"What about_—agh!"_

The ferry careened to one side.

Hazel screamed in absolute terror, and her death grip on Frank's hand increased exponentially, crushing his bones into powder. Reyna grabbed her seat to steady herself. The white haired boy yelped in alarm as he was thrown into the window.

There was a groan of metal, a megalithic, deep groan that rattled her bones.

The passengers screamed. Mothers held onto their wailing children, and the men wrapped their arms around their women to keep them from flying through the gaping window to an untimely demise, as many had already encountered.

What was once the sea was now only a jar of black ink, swirled by inquisitive fingers into a typhoon. The ship jolted again, as if a giant had just kicked it like a football. The world was a blur of colours and ephemeral sensations too fast for the eye to comprehend.

The heads of the fallen bobbed up and down, in a barrel that was the inexorable ocean, where they were the apples.

A second boom of sound—that of a rocket bursting through the limitations of gravity. Beyond comprehension. It sounded almost like a defiant roar. The mortals could not discern the epicenter, but Reyna could see the source, far away.

Alaska.

Fog rolled over their ship—a blackened kind of fog. Where it touched, it burned, and soon, the mortals who did not move fast enough were melted to the bone, revealing picked-clean skeletons, an enamel white.

Corrosive darkness.

Water seeped in. Reyna heard screams once more, high and undying into her ears, before the ocean wrapped its slimy embrace around her waist and pulled her under.

Bubbles, escaping from between her fingers. They tickled.

Then, there was no light. Only darkness polluted the air. Silence. The numbed kind, the kind that tore around on nightmare black claws, the kind that whispered such sweet nothings in her ears.

She clawed doggedly upward, but the surface seemed no closer and only her breath, streaming out in a cascade of effervescent, winking bubbles, saw the light again.

_"—close your eyes and count to ten. And don't worry. It shall be over soon."_

Darkness shrouded her eyes with blackened colours. It was too fast to fight off, and her arms became slow and heavy, moving in little more than unsynchronized thrashings.

_"I got you, darling."_

Hands, cold and still, wrapped around her waist, and even through her armour, she could feel his icy skin pressed to hers. With a few easy strokes, they were rocketing towards the surface.

She felt him smile against her hair.

_"Be more careful next time."_

Then, his voice was lost along with the reverent stillness of the world below.

Her head broke through the surface. Instinctively, her arms sought a piece of driftwood that floated by—but no, it was a piece of the ship, bobbing raggedly in the water, like a shark's disorientated fin.

After several minutes, she became aware of someone shouting her name.

The white haired boy was swimming beside her, easily keeping his head above water, powerful limbs treading through the black waters.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worry creasing his brow. "I saw you go down, and I went after you. You didn't look so good."

Reyna pressed a shaking hand to her head. The Voice was nothing more than a delusion—and somehow, she wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

"Thank you, I—" she broke off abruptly. "You're hurt."

A trickle of blood made its way slowly down the side of his face, welling out of a cut above his hairline in thick, dark drops. The boy wiped the back of his hand over his face, surprised.

"Ah..."

"Reyna!"

Hazel was riding a dolphin. Reyna blinked in slight surprise.

"Hazel. You are alright?"

"Yeah." She shivered a little, but managed a trembling smile. "I'm okay. I guess I should be asking you that. I saw you go under."

"I'm fine. Where is Frank?"

The dolphin gave a particularly loud snort. Reyna felt her eyebrows rising fast above her hairline.

"Ah. You shall be explaining this later, Frank. Until then, we must go. Do you know the way to shore?"

A second snuffing sound.

"Wait," the boy interrupted. His lips were beginning to turn blue, and his face a sullen grey. "W-Where are you going?"

"I'm truly sorry, but we must be leaving now."

The boy's hand closed on her arm, and she was struck by how cold his skin was.

"Don't be," he said.

More blood trickled from the side of his neck, from his eyes, his nose, freezing before they could splash off his chin and into the waters below. Reyna reeled backwards, but just as suddenly, his grip grew claw-like and dug into her arm, crushing through the armour she wore underneath.

With his free hand, he pinched his cheek, and _peeled._

His face came off in a sick squelch of half-drying strands of blood, contaminating the air with the smell of dying rust, of potent death.

Bronze skin. Gleaming white teeth. Cerulean eyes lost their colour and became a thin, marble white, devoid of any semblance of a pupil or iris—that of a corpse's.

"You're not the only one with _secrets."_

He tossed the skinned face —oh gods, she didn't want to think about the poor mortal who had unwittingly donated that face— into the water, and began to paddle towards them.

Reyna shouted, "Run!"

But Frank hesitated, he hesitated in leaving her, and before he could move, dragon-like claws had pierced through his side. Blue-black misted into the depths, and Frank _howled_, a terrible, wretched sound.

"Oh, no," the boy smiled. "You're not going _anywhere."_

The butt of his spear rammed into her temple. A sharp, blossoming flash of pain. Her teeth rattled at the sheer force.

There was a brief sensation of falling, of weightless vertigo, and then blissfully, nothing.

* * *

><p><em>"Without Death, there can be no Life. But let us hope," Death said to him, softly, gently, a hand caressing his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and she smiled. "that it shall be better, this time around."<em>

* * *

><p>"You're awake," the boy said.<p>

It was not a question, for time had certainly passed since Reyna was last conscious, and she would not be surprised if he had eyes on the back of his head.

His image was blurry, but unfortunately, was not blurry enough to completely obscure his gruesome countenance. There were bones braided into his hair. Human bones, thin and sleek, and ruptured with the holes of time.

Her tongue felt thick and heavy. Briefly, she entertained the notion that she'd been forced to swallow razor blades—the metallic taste and the sharp twinge in her stomach certainly attested to that statement.

Reyna turned her head to the side, her entire neck and back screaming with stiffness.

Hazel was kneeling several paces away, back turned to Reyna, her hands stained. When she turned for a scant second, she was biting her bottom lip with a distressed fervor—something that she only did when she was extremely terrified or extremely excited, to which Reyna was quite sure she could eliminate the latter.

Then, her vision focused enough for her to recognize the figure, and knew with a sickened feeling in her gut that it was Frank.

He had reverted to his human form, but whatever injuries he sustained seemed to have been transferred over, and he was currently bleeding to death from the hole that had been punched through the side of his torso.

Hazel had her hands pressed to it in desperation. There was little else she could do. Neither of them had the capacity for the healing arts, nor had the patience required for such a delicate procedure.

"Let me go," she demanded of the bronze giant.

He spared her a lazy glance from the corner of his eye. The agitated movement of his arm, stirring a massive purple bonfire, halted for a brief moment, before starting again. His back was turned towards them—it would be so easy just to...

To her surprise, he snapped his fingers, and the ropes chafing her wrists shrivelled into dust.

"As you wish," he said, a sardonic tinge in his voice. Reyna paid him no attention.

"How is he?" she asked to Hazel, her voice low.

Hazel shook her head, matted hair straggling to her neck.

"Bad," she admitted quietly. There was fear in her eyes. "He's fading, pretty quickly. I... I don't know what I'm supposed to do... Reyna—"

"Hush," Reyna soothed, though she herself was feeling little better on the inside. She forced a calming smile on her face, and when Hazel's shoulders slumped forward, she moderated her voice gently. "He will be alright, Hazel. When we get out of here, the gods will make sure that he is alright. Lord Apollo is an excellent healer. There is little he cannot do."

Hazel exhaled slowly. "I... I know," she said tiredly. "I guess. I just..." She let her hand drop to her side. "I worry."

A sudden, booming laugh broke through the silence. Reyna jerked, and immediately, her countenance changed to that of a devoid, cold wasteland.

_"Tempting,"_ he rumbled in amusement. "You mortals are such entertainment. How you fuss over the life of one insignificant demigod—_frank_ly, it's appalling and bemusing at the same time."

Reyna grit her teeth. "You may have _me,_ if you wish, but let Frank go. He poses little harm to you."

He clicked his tongue in mocking disapproval.

Upon closer inspection, she came upon the sudden revelation that the giant wasn't poking incessantly into the flames, but that he was drawing something into the ground, and it was the runes that created the unusual colour.

The language of the Primordials.

"Reyna, _Reyna..._ are we growing _soft? No,_ no, I will need all three of you for the ritual. A _cursed_ son of Mars, a _cursed_ daughter of Pluto, and a—yes, this shall do _nicely,_ indeed."

Runic fire. She remembered how it burned.

_(she remembered how it hurt)_

"What are you trying to do?" she said, desperately trying to stall for time—any time.

_"Do?"_ he echoed, a smirk lifting one side of his twisted mouth into a grotesque leer. "I have no need to do anything. If you are hoping that I shall burst into maniacal laughter and delineate all of my plans to you, then you are sorely mistaken."

"Everything you told me about yourself was false."

"Whoever said it was? You simply have the... abridged version, and that is for the better. It was a bloody war, wholly unsuited for young and innocent ears."

"You're... you're Enceladus, are you not? The Bane of Minerva."

"Hm. Very good. I am he. But not for much longer." He paused. "Do you see these? In a matter of moments, our Lord will rise, and the world shall be consumed with Darkness. In order to live, he shall required a strong body. A strong host. He has been through much, lost much, and I will be the one to consolidate his losses and bring victory among our forces."

Reyna had never been one to be tongue tied, but staring at the clearly deranged giant in front of her, she knew not what to say.

Enceladus straightened, a grotesque, leering smile on his face, stretching his thin lips over gleaming white teeth.

He snapped his fingers. With a hollow rattle, chains wrapped themselves around Reyna's wrists and ankles, drawing themselves cruelly tight, cutting hungrily into flesh.

"But enough of that. There is a new world coming, be assured—you simply won't be a part of it."

The darkness was rising. It was becoming difficult to breathe, stifling in its intensity., dragging its clammy fingers down her throat.

Enceladus' hands sought her shoulders. With a rough shove, she was tumbling helplessly through the air, skidding down the rocky slope. Rocks, dislodged by her scattered thrashings, flew up to hit her in the face, drawing blood.

Spires of ice, ice and darkness, reflected her smudged face as she crashed through multiples of them. She felt something inside of her crack, but there was no time to feel the pain.

She fell

—and then the ground was beneath her. Ice. Frozen in a rough, pitted pattern. It melted underneath her warm touch, before hardening back to ice, nipping gently at her skin. She left smudges of red.

Ominous spires, thousands of feet tall, jutted out of the ground. The snow around was burnt and melted—a crater of ungodly proportions.

She had no doubt in her mind that this was the mortals' _'asteroid.'_ Almost as if out of magnetic attraction, she walked forward, the palm of her hand grazing against the smooth, hardened ice. To her surprise, it was warm, and pulsed gently underneath her fingertips.

Two more thuds.

Hazel and Frank. The latter was wheezing heavily. Hazel was all but carrying him, though she looked no better herself.

"Reyna..." she said.

Reyna turned, and lowered her arm slowly, that feeling fading away, inexplicable.

"Yes?"

A long, horrified pause.

"They're going to kill us, Reyna. They're going to use us as sacrifices. Look."

Following her extended finger, she traced its path to the spires of ice. There was a terrified look in her eyes. Frowning, Reyna took a few steps back to get a better perspective.

A scythe. Trapped in the ice, gleaming in the dying rays of the sun.

Almost not daring to look up, she made out the _hand,_ gripping the scythe so tightly the knuckles were white. An arm.

"Gods..."

She didn't need to see the face to know that it was Erebus. His eyes were closed, but there was something an off-shade of white obscuring the left side from view, almost like stone.

He was balanced dangerously on his toes, leaning forward in a position that suggested he was in no condition to get up anytime soon. His armour was stained with questionable substances, and if it were made of any mortal material, Reyna knew it would have been destroyed times over.

Even so, she had never seen him so close to death. So... still, so vulnerable, so, so small. But then, she pushed the thought away from her mind, because _small_ and _Erebus_ simply did not belong together, and it brought a discomfiting lurch inside of her.

Her hand began to burn, scalding. Slowly at first, but ascending as fast as the fire that licks up the corner of a newspaper, consuming it in its fiery embrace. She might have screamed, save for the stubborn set of her jaw.

Hazel's hand touched her shoulder.

All three of them collapsed.

There was no other way to describe it. It was as if their very lives had been sucked dry.

The snow was shrivelling—how it was possible, Reyna did not know, but it blackened and withered away, along with the earth beneath their feets.

The middle spire began to melt. Chains of ice fell away.

But it was not enough.

Ambient energy was torn out of the earth itself. Mount Olympus was beginning to crumble, once bright columns and statues turning a rust grey, falling to ash, ash that danced through the air and painted the mortals' skyscrapers grey.

Reyna looked up, her face pinched with pain, in time to see the spire glow black

—and explode.

Shards of ice, of rustic winds, scraped by her face with razor claws. A cacophony of sounds, of inexorable power, pressed tighter, and Reyna knew, at that instant, what it must have felt like to hold up the sky.

She felt herself beginning to spontaneously combust. Colours seared themselves into her pupils, even though her arms were thrown over her head and her eyes were closed.

A Primordial out of control.

Then, just as abruptly as it had started, it was over, and there were only three demigods, lying face-down in the mud, gasping heavily. All alive, but never closer to Death, in both senses of the word.

A whisper of cold. The light touch of black feathers against snow.

"My Lord." Enceladus sank to one knee. "Welcome home."

Erebus ignored the giant. Leaving him kneeling on the ground, he clasped his hands behind his back, black eyes fixed on a distant point in the horizon.

"What an interesting host you have found," he mused, softly, dangerously. "I would not have expected you to be able to chain Erebus of the Endless."

"It was Mother's idea," the giant said pensively. "His collar; it is Zeus' Master Bolt. Endless has retreated within himself."

Erebus flexed his fingers slowly, testing the weight and proportion of them. Finding it to his liking, he turned around.

Reyna saw his eyes—black, the colour of the Void, of endless pits. His lips were bloodless, and if she hadn't known better, she would have pegged him for a re-animated corpse.

"Ah. I see they remember him," Not-Erebus said. "Enceladus, pick up the scythe. Bring it to me."

"My Lord...?"

_"Now."_

Enceladus made to pick it up, but the instant his fingertips grazed against smooth metal, he howled in pain, the surface of his skin bubbling, as though set to fire.

"Weaklings," Erebus sneered.

With a few deceptively swift strides, he pushed Enceladus carelessly to the side—an odd sight, seeing as Enceladus had about ten feet on Erebus' height.

The instant he touched the weapon, his entire body stiffened and froze. It did not burn him as it had Enceladus, but there was something inexplicable written by his brow, before it was abruptly smoothed away.

"Oh, _Erebus,"_ not-Erebus crooned. "It is futile to fight. The battle was over the instant you had been trapped inside the Vault. In your desperation, you have absorbed too much of my Pit's ambient power, and now you are mine—body, mind, and soul."

A sickening lurch. Not-Erebus' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he brought a hand to his mouth, his face a grimace of pain. Enceladus surged forwards in alarm.

"My Lord? Is he hurting you?"

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, Erebus wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes still closed.

"I am fine. He is gone, now."

There was something odd about his tone of voice. Enceladus relaxed.

"Oh, of course. I am a fool to think that he would have been able to hinder you. Mother will be so pleased."

"Is that so?" Not-Erebus said slowly. Reyna peeked at him from beneath her protective embrace, but saw nothing but his rigid stance, his back turned towards her.

"Yes, Father," said the giant, almost in puzzlement.

A slow, sly smirk graced Erebus' face, and suddenly, there was something just so very crimson red about his pale countenance. His eyes opened.

"Uncle."

His voice was no longer calm. Rough, jagged edges cut.

"My Lord?"

"I am not your father, Enceladus. And do tell Gaea, when you see her—I would not like to see her again, not for a long time yet. I have no intentions of taking part in your war."

A soft, feminine laugh.

"Then _tell me yourself,_ my dearest Erebus."

The woman's voice was soft and silky, yet carried an unearthly, hollow tone within its depths. She and Erebus had the same lilting accents when they spoke, the same inflections and dark humor—characteristics of the Ordiaans.

Erebus turned, sounding not at all surprised.

"Gaea. How _kind_ of you to return."

"Erebus," she smiled—a thin, sharp bladed smile. "What says you of my proposition?"

"I see no proposition, only brute force. Trying to have Tartarus possess me was a very bad idea, even more so when you consider just _who I am_."

"I have known for eons, _Thanatos._ The signs were there; most simply chose not to look."

A long, long pause, in which tension and barely masked hatred radiated, heavier than any knife's blade. Erebus spoke again. Both his eyes were red.

"Thanatos is dead."

"...I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Do not play _coy_ with me, Gaea—"

A twin scythe slowly rose from the ground. Erebus caught it. Reyna could see where the two weapons had been fused together, creating a single, destructive element of death.

"Get back," she whispered to Hazel. "We _need_ to get out of here. They're going to attack."

"—you and I both know I have little patience."

Monsters crested the hill on all sides, peering down from the edges of the crater they were located in. Surrounded. Erebus remained unperturbed, but a dark, filthy cloak of power darkened his eyes.

"From this day forth, I am Death. She has taken my place, and I hers."

Gaea's amicability melted faster than ice in a desert. Her gruesome face contorted into a snarl.

"Keep in mind, Erebus," she said, her voice soft, "that you have brought this upon yourself. Had you come peacefully, I would have given the boy to you, and all would have been well."

The first flickers of confusion crossed Erebus' face. Gaea sneered. "Do not tell me you have forgotten your dear little cousin already?"

He jerked backwards as if burnt, a purple rage enveloping him, making the air hard to breathe.

"Pontus? You are playing a dangerous game, Gaea. If I do not end you, then Order will."

"Order? He is dead to me—and indeed, he has been given the same fate he deserves. Even you have not escaped unscathed." Addressing someone over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Erebus, she said, "My love? Yes, please bring the boy forward."

A black hooded figure stepped forward. A weakly struggling bundle was in his arms, swathed in cloth, an executioner's hood over his head. Reyna caught her breath.

The hood was unshrouded with a flourish and mocking bow, revealing wild green eyes, the shade of a tempest sea.

They roved around wildly, none of the child-like innocence tainting them, and when he fixed his gaze on Erebus, he reached forward with a cry. Erebus' jaw clenched, his entire body quivering with rage.

Gaea snapped her fingers.

"Kill him."

The boy was forced onto his knees. Reyna slapped her hand over Hazel's mouth to contain her scream, though she felt as though she would be sick herself.

The executioner grabbed a fistful of his black hair, baring his neck.

Erebus surged forward, but just as suddenly, he fell to the ground, his face contorted in extreme pain. White electricity issued forth, and where it touched, Reyna could see it burning away, slowly, rupturing nerves, issuing bone.

Blood slowly dripped onto the ground.

"Remove the gag," Gaea said, her hand slowly slipping from the dialed control. The dial was set at eight.

The executioner complied. Pontus tried to bite him, but he only chuckled.

"Any last words, boy?" he asked mockingly.

"Pontus," Erebus whispered. He pushed himself up, but once more, Gaea smiled. His eyes closed, biting hard into his lip, trying to stay the grunts of seized pain that took him into its embrace.

It was almost too fast to see. Reyna turned away. She heard the whistle of an axe, slicing through air, slicing through sinew and bone. She heard a boy's muffled sobs. She heard him trying to be brave, but encountered with death, she heard him cry out in fear.

_"FATHER!"_

Pity, pity, it was too late, too late and he was dead.

The bloodstained axe. Bits of skin dangled from the tip, and slowly peeled off.

"Oh my gods," Hazel said. Her face was drawn. Reyna licked suddenly dry lips, but no sound escaped her mouth.

Gaea hummed brightly. "Such a sweet child. I don't think he was talking to Order, Erebus. You must truly have cared for him. Wouldn't you say, _Pontus?"_

The executioner's pale hand caught the moon's light. His hood fell away, to reveal an almost exact clone of Erebus, with only a different colour of eyes. This must have been what Pontus would have eventually grown to look like.

"νερό," Erebus muttered coldly.

"You did not think I was dead, did you?" Pontus smirked. "A few sentiments, between you and I—that brother of yours was easily fooled. 'Opposites cannot survive without their other half,' I had told him, and still, he did not pick up on my hint. For Gaea is mine. She is my opposite."

Gaea joined his laughter.

"You believed yourself to be several steps ahead of us. Arrogant, as you tend to be. You did not really think Tartarus was the one we were attempting to bring back? No, no, that was only a ploy. Tartarus is weak, Erebus, even you must know it to be so. His only power lies in his Pit, and even then, it is of little use."

"A few subtle words, and Tartarus truly believed he would succeed," Pontus said. "Thus, killing two birds with one stone. You have severely weakened him, and he you. It will be all the easier, now." He paused. "By the way, I do hope you like that collar _I_ gave you."

Erebus said nothing.

"Terra had it—she stole it from Zeus," Reyna whispered. The pieces of the illogical puzzle were finally beginning to click together.

Gaea took it from Zeus.

Pontus pretended to ally himself with Order, and then convinced Order to put it on Erebus as a punishment.

Pontus then "sacrificed" himself to assure Aether and Nyx of his loyalties to them, to persuade them that the only safe path to take was to take Erebus and flee to Earth.

Reyna dared to spare a glance at Erebus.

His lips parted, something cold yet warm issued forth, like a tangible mist. Black polluted the irises of his eyes, but it was not the colour of Tartaros' possession. Rather, it was the dead black, the kind of rotting corpses, of flattened hope.

The collar glowed, then was still.

He pushed himself to his feet. Gaea's eyes widened, but it was as if he'd entered a kind of berserker rage, for he simply shrugged aside the collar's touch, as if it were no more than a fly.

"You may be the incarnation of life, but I am the scion of darkness itself," he smiled back, a livid purple rage in his eyes, a ghost of something far more ancient, far more inexorable cloaking his shoulders.

"Retreat!" she shouted.

Faster than was able to be comprehended, Erebus had Pontus pinned to the pillar of ice, one hand drawn back. Pontus struggled little, and he only grinned back, blood outlining his teeth.

"You cannot win," Pontus hissed. "You are not Death, no matter how you convince yourself to be. You cannot close the Gates, and I will return."

"Then I shall just have to kill you again. I look forward to our next encounter. You have signed your death sentence. The fun is just beginning."

There was something oddly beautiful about the way Erebus knelt and cut off his head with a single strike—clean, as was expected, and in a splatter of blood, the deeds were done, splattering the snow-white ground with crimson poppies.

And as he turned to smile at her, she knew, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that this was the commencement of war, and that the line between beauty and insanity was nowhere in sight.

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Thalia woke up in an ice cube, hungry, tired, and altogether not very happy.<p>

Well, she guessed it was an ice cube, anyways, because she was cold, and angry, and not all that thrilled that her nose was currently itchy yet she was unable to scratch it.

...and how did she end up here, anyways?

Frowning, she hit her hand against the ice, her breath misting over the translucent surface. A hollow thud rang out, but the ice did not break. Go figure.

Licking her lips and frowning at the taste in her _mouth—gods,_ had she forgotten to brush her teeth for three months straight, or something?— she pressed her palm to the ice, grimacing as frost chilled her blood, freezing her skin.

Still, she did not move from her spot, until some of the ice had melted from her body heat, forming a smoother surface. She peered through the little window she had made.

The images of the outside world were distorted by the uneven freezing, but even she could make out the white blanket that had settled over the world. Snow. No surprise there.

Squinting harder, she could make out black dots—people? It was difficult to tell, but she knew they were moving.

People, then. If not, then she had somehow ended up on an alternate dimension where giant black ants roamed the world.

—which was highly unlikely, but Thalia had long given up trying to make sense of her life.

Blinking the grogginess out of her eyes, she considered her options. One, was to go back to sleep. Two, was to break out and face whatever had put her in here. She was leaning towards the former.

What, exactly, had woken her up? She could still feel sleep pulling on the edges of her consciousness, but it was as though it was blocked by a barrier of some sort. Holding back the tide.

But before she could have much time to mull over her current situation, a wave of something dark, something powerful but detestable, slammed into her prison of ice. Thalia rocked backwards in alarm, all intentions of sleep gone.

...well, she had gotten the answer to one of her questions, at least.

The ice was weakened. Cracks, marred with an inky black outline, webbed the surface in front of her. Without a second's thought, she slammed her entire body through—

—and then she was falling, falling as her stomach dropped to the pit of her chest, falling as she felt some sort of inexplicable terror take hold.

She was almost grateful when she hit the ground.

Almost.

It fucking _hurt._

Groaning, she rolled onto her back, blinking the falling snowflakes from her eyes. So much for a graceful landing.

Something wet and sticky was gradually spreading beside her.

Now that she thought of it, the fall was a lot better than it would have been, at this height. She had fallen on something soft.

She looked down, and couldn't even bring herself to feel anything but exasperation.

...of course, with her luck, she just had to fall on top of a dead body. What a wonderful way to start off the morning. Or night. She really couldn't tell. It was too dark. Nor did she care, at this point.

With a grunt, she heaved herself to her feet, precariously wiping the blood away from her nose, making a face. It wasn't hers, but that didn't mean she had to like it any better.

Her footsteps crunched as she turned around, and surveyed her surroundings. Nothing special. Mountains, ice, dirt, more ice, coniferous trees, shards of ice poking out of everywhere (that was probably her fault, though), freaked out kids, ice—wait.

Thalia turned back to the kids. There were three of them. One in front. Another beside her. The last was lying on his back, unmoving. Most likely hurt in some way. Did she somehow do that?

No, no, it wasn't her, because there was another figure looming in front of them. He was the source off the dark stench, the unbearable smell of ozone. And he didn't look like a happy camper.

"Istilis aug stus mori," he hissed at them, unsheathing a blade. His voice was doubled—never a good sign, at least, not in the horror movies she'd watched before. When there was no answer forthcoming, his voice rose in anger. _"Istilis aug stus mori!"_

_Where are they? Where are they!_

Unwittingly, she found herself opening her mouth.

_"Erebus?"_

The figure turned. It _was_ Erebus, only it _wasn't—there_ were just so many thing wrong with his appearance that Thalia immediately took a step back.

"Nyx... Nyx. It wasn't me," he whispered. "I didn't. Pontus... _νερό_, νερό is the future Pontus, and he killed the younger one. I..."

Thalia's brow wrinkled. What the Hades was he blathering on about? Killing the younger one? νερό? Pontus?

A faint memory, pale in her mind, slowly wrapped itself around her consciousness.

Ah. He'd been accused of trying to kill Aether and Pontus. She herself had accused him of it. Double ah.

"Where's Aether?" she blurted out.

Erebus raised a hand and pointed. She followed his finger, and her eyes alighted on the rough hewn, jagged spire of ice jutting out of the ground. The two beside it were already broken apart. It hadn't been an ice cube she'd been in, after all.

Thalia frowned. She was forgetting something—something vital, something important...

She didn't remember how she ended up being imprisoned in the ice. If she examined Aether's coffin closely, she could see how the edges were spiked, radiating outwards, as though they had dropped out of the very sky itself and slammed the earth—specifically, the ice. The intense heat of their collision had melted their surroundings into water, just long enough for it to freeze over again.

Just how high had they dropped? The very thought made her queasy.

Where was she before this? How...

—oh.

"The little _shit!"_ she snarled.

Nico.

Nico.

Nico was dead.

"Where is he hiding?" She turned around in a full circle, maddened, as though trying to seek out an invisible foe. "Bring him out! I'm going to tear that coward apart!" Rounding on the clearly terrified demigods (they weren't doing a very good job hiding it), she screamed, "W_here are you hiding him?"_ and began to advance closer, ozone crackling.

Erebus, surprised, tried to place his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down, but in her frenzied state, she twisted his arm backwards, slamming her elbow into his throat. He reeled backwards, coughing, and she took the opportunity to shove him into Aether's ice spire.

_"Where is he?"_

Erebus grimaced, and forcibly pushed her away.

_"Enough,_ Nyx," he snarled, though he sounded winded and tired. "Whoever you want to kill, we can wait until later. And the gods' spawn will not understand you unless you speak an earthen tongue."

Blinking, Thalia pulled back abruptly. She had not noticed she was speaking in another language. Panicking a little, she examined the backs of her hands, and tripped over her own feet when she realized that her legs were too long and she felt so _wrong—_

Hands gripped her shoulders. Her eyes flicked up, and among the blurry, tear-distorted images of the world, she could see Erebus, his crimson eyes concerned, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"—yx... Nyx, can you hear me?" he was saying. Thalia swallowed thickly and nodded, pushing back her fear. "Good. Try to breathe. It's alright. This happened to me too, and most likely to Aether, as well. Breathe. Good."

When the hysteria had faded to a faint whisper, Thalia's subconscious registered the odd message. "Happened to you?"

Erebus opened his mouth to speak, but then, seemed to think better of it, and shook his head. "In times of great distress, a Primordial can shut down completely. You were out for some time, Nyx—out of your mind. The Styx shattered the barrier enough for you to come to yourself, but it's taking a toll."

"The Styx? I don't—Erebus? Erebus, are you alright? Erebus!"

_'Where are you, my sweet? Don't try to hide from me—I will find you, and then, I'll be very, very unhappy... you do not want to make me unhappy, darling. We could have such fun together...'_

"Yes, I am fine, Nyx. Why do you ask?" Erebus said calmly. Thalia scowled.

"You zoned out there for a sec. Like you were talking to someone in your head..." When Erebus frowned, Thalia sighed and shook her head. "I guess I'm imagining things now, too. Wonderful."

"We can talk more later. Now, we must go."

"Go?" she echoed, falling into step beside Erebus.

"To see the gods."

A quiet memory drifted into the back of her mind. Of violent voices, shouting obscenities.

"You promised yourself you would not go to them."

Erebus finally turned around. Only then, did Thalia realize how terrible he looked. And only then, was the Nyx side of her aware of his time in the Vault.

"And," he bit out, his voice scathing, "I also promised Pontus I would keep him safe."

_"—I had a nightmare, Percy... I'm scared—"_

Her eyes softened. "That was eons ago, Erebus. Pontus would have forgiven you for that."

_"—it will be alright, Pontus. Dreams cannot touch us here, and one day, not even the darkness shall harm you."_

"Does time obsolete all promises? This last broken oath of mine shall mean little, then."

"What about _them?"_ Thalia gestured at the demigods, huddled around themselves, watching with terrified and wary eyes. Erebus waved his hand dismissively. There was a bitter twist in his voice.

"They shall find their own way home. If not, the gods will come for them—if they are lucky enough."

_(let's hope their parents care for them more than they did me)_

He reached up and placed his hand, fingers splayed, against Aether's tomb. He didn't seem to notice the cold, nor care.

The ice melted underneath his touch, as easily as a knife slicing through warm butter. It splashed into harmless water at their feet, but Erebus kept it contained before it could freeze them to the ground. Aether fell into a coughing heap, blinking profusely.

"Gods..." he muttered under his breath.

Thalia frowned. She must have heard wrong. Primordials did not swear by the gods, for they were—Nyx's arrogance cut in—better, faster, stronger in every shape and form.

Picking himself up slowly, Aether groaned. His eyes suddenly flew open, and his entire body jerked upright, as spasmodically and frenetically as if he'd been shocked by lightning.

"Erebus! Nyx!"

Erebus smiled wanly. "It's been a while, Aether."

"But... you fell in the Styx! Both of—"

"Speak quietly, Aether," Erebus warned in the Ordiaan tongue, cutting off whatever the other Primordial was about to say. Thalia felt a flicker of confusion. She'd understood him perfectly. "The children are watching."

"—both of you," Aether muttered. "Erebus was dragging us through, remember, Nyx? The tunnels. The Labyrinth. And then we fell. We weren't prepared, and there was no way out, and the two of you," his face soured, "threw me onto the shore and almost drowned. I went in after you, but halfway through, I—"

"I do recall warning you to reign in your rash impulses," Erebus said softly. There was nothing soft about his tone. "You cannot swim. I dragged you out."

Aether winced.

"Shouldn't we get going?" Thalia interrupted. "As much as I'd like to humiliate Aether, we need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Yeah, I guess. Why are we on Earth, anyways? Don't we all kind of hate this place?"

"It was the most accessible, and least guarded," Erebus said. "The gods... they are _weak,_ pathetically so, and they do not even know of the Labyrinth's continued existence. Thus, it is the easiest to break through, and I did not wish to risk sending us floating in the Void for the rest of eternity."

Thalia remembered the Eyes, the Voices, the Whispers. She remembered their touch, and shuddered. "No thanks. We'll just figure something out."

Erebus smiled grimly at them. "I thought as much."

Aether sighed. "At least you two are back to normal. You don't know how weird it's been, these past few days."

Thalia wrinkled her nose as Nyx's consciousness projected an image of a hysterically giggling, very much insane Primordial at her. "Er... yeah. Sorry you had to see that."

"At any rate—hey, where's Erebus?"

Thalia blinked. "I guess he must have left already. We should go, too, before he blows something up. It's not good to get him angry, especially when his mood's so messed up because of everything that's happened."

"Speaking of which, what _did_ happen here?" Aether gestured at the thick stains of blood in the blanket of white.

Thalia shrugged helplessly, frustrated. "I don't know. Something about Pontus and νερό, but that's all I can get from him."

Aether shook his head.

"We'll talk more when we get there. See you at the Building."

-o-

They arrived in time to see Erebus towering over the cowering security guard. The poor man was trembling in his boots, and he looked like he was going to be sick very quickly, suffocating from the darkness that swirled around him in agitation.

"You know very well who and _what_ I am, so _do not play_ such games with me."

Still, the guard swallowed down bile, and said in a trembling voice, "Th-There is no si-sixth hundred floor, s-sir. You have the wrong... wrong address. You are causing a scene."

Erebus straightened, an ugly scowl marring his face.

Something had unhinged him to the point that his emotions were breaking through—it did not bode well for any of them, and if it was enough to cause him such distress, then Thalia decided she could go a little while longer without knowing.

"I tire of this."

And he opened his arms, falling backwards through his own shadow.

Thalia looked to her right to see Aether staring, surprised, at where Erebus once stood. He muttered something under his breath, too softly for Thalia to decipher, and turned away.

The guard was still in the corner, staring with too-wide eyes.

"You just made our job that much harder," she snapped at him. "If he blows up Olympus, you're paying."

Ignoring the mortal's stutters, she crossed her arms over her chest and followed Erebus' example, erupting into a column of wind, wind that tore apart the guard's documents, blowing confetti-like pieces of paper into the air.

Then there was the sensation of free-falling once more, of being dragged from side to side, and then she landed on her feet, in the outermost courtyard of Olympus, stumbling as momentum threw her forwards. Aether landed next to her.

She looked up, in time to see the massive doors of the throne room slam open with a megalithic groan. Something cracked. Pieces fell, but Erebus paid no heed and simply walked in.

The wolf was the first to notice him. Instead of attacking, her ears drew backwards, and she lowered herself to an almost submissive, respectful position, before returning to her rigid stance.

_"Erebus of the Endless, son of Chaos, welcome to Earth,"_ she growled softly, catching the attention of the bickering Olympians. Poseidon was the first to bow, and uncertainly, the others came to follow his example.

"I believe you said to contact you, should my decision ever come to change," Erebus replied coolly, his voice giving in to nothing but a steely inflection.

Poseidon seemed to pick up on the unspoken message, and hesitated.

"Of course. But may I ask—"

"You may not."

_"If you would not mind my asking. How are situations in your homeland?"_

Erebus stared at Lupa for a good while, until the wolf, unnerved, looked away. Finally, he tilted his head up, defiantly, as if daring for the Olympians to see him as weak.

"Order has fallen."

His proclamation was met by silence.

The Olympians remembered Order. They remembered his power. They remembered how suffocated, how dwarfed by his raw acrimony they felt. And they thought about just how terrible a war would have to strike the dimension to topple such a ruler.

_(beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical)_

"I am... sorry for your loss," Poseidon managed to say, wetting suddenly dry lips. Erebus turned away, his face thrown into shadow.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice carrying an edge of harsh virulence. "It is better this way. Aether, Nyx, you may come out now."

Aether looked worse than the last time they'd seen him. A proud, crisp figure covered liberally in mud, his hair was frozen together, blue eyes a darker shade, like that of a frost covered night. When he spoke, it was in short, clipped sentences.

Nyx was little better. There was something fractured about her very being, but hidden just out of sight, held together by sheer stubbornness alone. She gazed upon them with hate—hate the Olympians did not understand.

"Gods of Olympus," she sneered. "And so, we have met again."

"Lady Nyx," Poseidon bowed. "Lord Aether. Have you come to aid us in our war against Gaea?"

Aether curled his lip in disdain.

"We follow Erebus. Erebus alone."

"Then, if I may ask, Lord Erebus, what changed your mind so quickly? As I recall, only several weeks have passed."

"Two years," Erebus corrected suddenly, shifting his unnervingly bright gaze onto Poseidon.

The sea god was struck by a displaced, gut-wrenching feeling of loss, and looked away. He'd looked so much like Percy, but now...

Physically, little had changed, save for the defensive set of his shoulders, the almost wild, feral perception in his eyes, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. A cornered wolf. A dangerous entity.

_(for his eyes weren't the only thing that had changed)_

"Time passes differently in the Vault," he continued detachedly, as though the information had no effect on him in any way. "So, yes. I have had time to think it over. You needn't worry, _Olympian."_

He spat out the last word like a curse, but there was confliction in his eyes.

Aether and Nyx flinched backwards. Nyx looked guilty, while Aether just looked horrified. Still, Erebus smiled—it was a brutal, mercurial smile.

"And you ask, sea god, what my purpose is." His voice sent shivers down their spines, but it was as if they'd been struck dumb, for though they retained the ability of speech, there was nothing that could be said, nothing to kill the gnarled silence.

"My purpose is vengeance. To kill. To create Chaos from Order, and to restore the balance of the world."

For what, _exactly,_ could be said about that?

"Ah, yes, thank you." Poseidon cleared his throat uncomfortably, his gaze flitting from Aether, to Nyx, to the ceiling, to the floor, to anywhere but Erebus. "Well. Before your arrival, my Lord, the Council was discussing our potential options. We fear a demigod uprising, reminiscent to the one from the last war. We barely survived the Titans, as it was, and the Primordials will prove a bigger challenge, one I don't think we can afford."

"You are _gods,"_ Erebus mocked. "If you cannot control your own _children,_ how are you meant to rule an entire _dimension?"_

"Demigods are not meant to be controlled," Poseidon replied, his teeth gritted. "They are free to make their own choices."

Erebus threw back his head and laugh. It was an ugly sound.

"Oh, that's a good one. Really. Then tell me: why do you condemn those who choose to fight alongside the Titans or Primordials? No, you tell yourself lies—such is endless, is eternal."

"We are telling the truth," Hermes protested.

"Oh? When is the last time any of you have had contact with your children? Spent a few hours with them, without any ulterior motives? I do not think you can remember such a day."

"Zeus has forbidden our contact."

Nyx's shoulders stiffened.

"And see where it has gotten him. Tartarus is most unpleasant this time of year, as I recall. Do not make the same mistakes as your predecessor, Poseidon."

"Speaking of Tartarus," Hestia said softly. Ares curled his lip in disgust. "What about the heroes?"

"You mean, the punk?"

"The camps," Apollo leaned forward, his brow furrowed, eyes ringed with a slight tinge of poisonous green, "need to be guarded. Something is coming. I don't like it."

"—hey, don't interrupt me—"

"Then..." Hera suddenly said, cutting through the noise. The other gods were reminded of exactly why she was the Queen. "If the Primordials are willing, we can send them to the Greek camp. The Romans should be able to hold off for a while longer—my champion is there, after all."

Aether twitched. Erebus' back straightened, and he smiled at them, the smile a shark gives to a cornered fish, sharp and patronizing.

"Of course, we are willing," he said diplomatically. Nyx tensed, but Erebus grasped her forearm gently; a silent warning. "Of course, you may also find that in the morning, their mutilated bodies will line the edge of the borders. You may also find the Camp laid to ruin—we are creatures of Chaos, at heart."

"What vendetta do you have against the Greeks?"

"Much," Aether hissed, his eyes dark. The tannic taste of terror bit against their tongues, the sensation of free-falling into endless pits, into the Void itself.

"Then we can send them to the Romans..." Hera mused. "But the Greek camp will be left at a disadvantage."

"We can always merge the camps," Hermes said tentatively, but his expression clearly showed his distaste for the idea.

"Absolutely not," Hera interrupted firmly. "Have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Artemis gripped her bow tightly. Her knuckles were white, and she was biting the inside of her cheek, hard.

"Sis?"

"We can... bring back some of the fallen Greek demigods," she said grudgingly, as though the very words themselves pained her.

"The Underworld is controlled by Gaea."

"But Tartarus is free game."

"Tartarus is a Primordial." Dionysus took a heavy draught from his wineglass, staining his lips a deep purple. "That's one of the craziest things I've ever heard."

"Tartarus is _weakened."_ Erebus cut in.

"How d'you know that?" Hephaestus said, stroking his fiery beard thoughtfully. Erebus simply fixed him with a look, and did not reply.

"Err... right. Primordial. But Tartarus...?"

"Percy's in there," Hestia said suddenly. Her stick stopped its repetitive motion, and the coals glowed brighter, bathing warm light upon the throne room, fighting away the shadows. "I know he has... but, if the dead have returned..."

Aphrodite squealed.

"Yes! That's the best idea I've heard so far!"

Collectively, the gods turned to Poseidon, fully expecting his joy, but Poseidon turned away and Hermes winced.

"Once again, you are too late."

For once, the gruesome smile slipped from Erebus' face, and somehow, it was more disturbing that before.

"Oh yeah?" Ares snapped. "Care to enlighten us, then, oh mister high and mighty?"

"Because." Erebus said coldly, his voice short and clipped. "Because, he is dead. And even I am unable to recall the dead to life. It is a cursed, half-life. Do not presume to know how the Elements work."

His proclamation was met by silence.

"You can't die in Tartarus. Not completely." Apollo laughed shakily. "It's impossible."

"Do you call me a liar, Apollo?"

"Calm down, Erebus."

"—it's true," Poseidon cut in. His face was drawn, his voice pale. "He killed himself. I got there... but too late. He died in my arms."

"Exactly why did Zeus throw him into Tartarus? The brat's annoying, but he's just a brat."

"Do you really think I know?"

The gods began to argue, once more. Silently, Erebus slung the scythe over his shoulder, the metal hissing with a cold touch. Aether restrained him with a whispered, "what are you doing?"

"Trust me," he muttered back. "I shall explain in a moment."

And he slammed the blade into the ground.

Immediately, a shockwave spread, pushing the thrones to the wall, the Olympians yelping as they were flipped over their seats. The lights flickered and died, shadows creeping in on nightmare-black claws.

They heard the Voices. The Voices of the damned. Whispering words, too many and too archaic to be understood. Angry.

_(vengeful)_

Hellfire burst into life, cradled against Erebus' palm. It was the only source of light, and it cast the world into an evil, verdant green.

For the first time, they tasted Death upon their tongues.

"What is this sorcery?" Poseidon demanded, getting up from where he had fallen. Immediately, Erebus' head snapped to the side, and the sea god was struck by how his pupils had enlarged, to the point that only a thin band of crimson was showing through the haunted black.

"Sit down," he snapped.

"But..."

_"Sit."_

Poseidon let himself fall to the floor. A cruel smile painted Erebus' lips.

_(inhuman, dark)_

"You asked a question. I am about to answer it."

The butt of his scythe traced several characters on the ground, too fast to be deciphered. With a slash, he activated them. The first —the furthermost left—glowed with a sickly light.

"Perthro..._ unknown."_

Smoke wisped upwards. Forming legs. Forming a torso, and a face, smoothing out until they could recognize the figure, bloodied and bruised. Nyx made a sound in her throat. Aether paled.

_"Olympians..."_

Green eyes smiled at the gods.

_"And it seems like we've met again. It hasn't been long enough."_

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Reyna stumbled towards camp. Her teeth had stopped chattering, but there was something very cold inside of her that refused to be thawed. She and Hazel were carrying Frank between them, for their supplies were somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, feeding the fishes.<p>

She grunted as she managed to have her foot caught on yet another obstacle, making her lurch forward. Frank's dead weight did little to help, in that aspect. A hastily tied bandage was still slowly bleeding through, a bright blossom of red against his torso.

"We're almost at the River," she gasped. "We're almost there."

Of course, the Gorgons chasing them didn't seem to think so. Both were wearing Bargain Mart aprons, and one was still carrying a tray of poisoned samples. Both of them, coincidentally, had been killed multiple times, but in just a little over two hours, both were back, as ugly as ever.

This probably classified as a Very Bad Day.

"Demigods—! We shall feast on your blood!"

...scratch that. This was an Extremely Bad Day.

"Well, you're not getting any," Reyna hissed back, and heaved Frank's arm over her shoulder again, as it was beginning to slip. She dared to glance over her shoulder, but nothing but empty plains greeted her.

"Ah-ah," Stheno said. She shoved her tray of samples in Reyna's face. "Why don't you have one, dear?"

Reyna stumbled backwards when both Gorgons materialized in front of them, arms outstretched, to tear their heads off or to embrace them in a hug—she was betting on the former.

"Go to Tartaros," she spat.

"Oh, honey, we've been there, and it ain't that bad. Kill us again, and we'll reform. The Gates are open, after all, and Gaea will reign supreme!"

"I wouldn't bet on that," a voice suddenly cut in. A voice that was sickeningly familiar, and entirely unwelcome.

Euryale's head snapped to the side, nostrils flared.

"I smell Medusa's blood!" she wailed. "I smell it! I do!"

Reyna turned. She averted her eyes from the speaker —better to remain ignorant— and instead, chose to focus on the other two, a boy and a girl.

The girl was dressed casually, with a "Death to Barbie" t-shirt, dark eyeliner, and a silver circlet on her head. A bow and quiver of silver arrows were slung over her shoulder. Her arms were crossed in extreme boredom.

The boy was the shortest of the three, but no less intimidating. A black sword was strapped to his belt. His colouring was Italian, but almost as if he'd been washed out in the sun, for his face was a pale, sickly colour. He wore an oversized aviator's jacket.

And the last. She slowly let her eyes follow in his direction.

Little had changed. Time had been good to him. Same stark green eyes, same dark black hair, same careless smile, except this time, there was a sharp edge to it, a loathsome kind of warning.

Except, his bronze sword was missing. She remembered that blade.

"Medusa?" he said, turning to the others in amusement. "That was so very long ago."

Euryale and Stheno were, apparently, of a one-track mind, for they suddenly forgot about Reyna, Hazel, and Frank, and were set on destroying the destroyer.

"Kill him! Medusa will be pleased with us! It is his fault that she has not yet reformed, and we shall bathe in his blood for her honour!"

They charged.

"What do you think?" _He_ asked his companions, seemingly bored. The Italian boy smirked and spun his sword on one finger, sheathing it in the same fluid motion. The girl simply shrugged.

"Might as well. They can go join Medusa in Tartarus."

"As I thought. Well, Euryale, Stheno, the jury has spoken. Try not to reform too quickly, yes? Otherwise, I'd just have to kill you again."

Still, there were no visible weapons upon his person. Reyna watched incredulously as the distance between them dwindled—fifty feet, forty feet. She stood up.

"Get Frank across the River. I shall try and buy you time."

She drew her spear. A shadow fell over the world. Green eyes met hers.

"You _might_ want to get down," He said.

His hands were raised.

Reyna looked up to see the_ entire river,_ floating placidly above her head. With a twitch of his fingers, the water twisted into the approximate shape of large, clawed hands, mimicking his own gestures.

Hazel sucked in a breath. "A son of Neptune..."

They fell upon the Gorgons like a hungry wolf would a lamb, tearing them to pieces, flesh rotting to sulphuric yellow dust. Euryale burst apart with a dying shriek. With a flick of his wrist, the other hand wrapped tightly around Stheno, bringing her closer.

"The right side, was it?" he murmured. He didn't flinch as Stheno's clawed hand shot out, slicing his cheek open.

"Yep," the Italian boy replied.

"Hmm. Thalia, if you would do the honors...?"

The girl slung her bow over her shoulder, hooking an arrow between her thumb and index finger. She took aim.

"My pleasure."

The arrow released. There was a piercing scream, and then

—nothing. An arrow thudded into a muddy bank. He stooped over and picked it up, then began to walk towards Hazel and Frank. Reyna stood in front of them protectively, but the boy only rolled his eyes and pushed her aside.

"Relax. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

She bristled at his nonchalant tone, as if he were merely stating a given fact, and that she was no more threat to his impending health than a gnat would be.

"Here." He threw the arrow down, next to Hazel. Blood flecked the tip, along with other questionable fluids. "Gorgons' blood. Right side heals. I think you'll need that."

Hazel wet her lips nervously, but raised her chin in a defiant gesture. "Who—are you?"

He saluted her mockingly.

"The cavalry has arrived. You called for backup from the Greeks, yes? Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo, and Thalia Grace, at your humble service. And..." he turned to look at Reyna, "have we met before? You look like you'd rather murder me on the spot."

Reyna swallowed thickly.

"No," she answered, even as the dream, the dream of the black haired, green eyed Greek burning down her first home, played in her head. "Never."

"Fine. Then, shall we get going? Show us this... quaint camp of yours. I would not like to stick around until the Gorgons reform."

"Do not tell me what to do," she growled back, pushing roughly past him, her shoulder hitting him as she passed. Under her breath, she muttered, sullenly, "And you haven't changed in the slightest."

_(if only she had looked closer, she would be able to see past the fake smile and the transparent, green eyes, she would have seen how very wrong she was)_

* * *

><p>"Know that I do this for the sole purpose of slaying Pontus' killers, and not out of lost love between us. I am aware of Gaea's plan to attack in three days hence. But do not fret. In our disguise, even you yourselves will not make out our true forms."<p> 


	22. Uruz (Power)

**Author's Note—**I really don't have an excuse, I'm sorry. Time hasn't been on my side, and truth be told, I was losing a bit of motivation to finish. I'll do my best not to leave you hanging, though, so please don't worry. Your encouragement has kept me going for longer than you would think possible.

**Chapter Notes—**Because I didn't think many people would appreciate giant chunks of dialogue in italics, whenever Percy, Nico, and Thalia are by themselves, they will be speaking Ordiian. If there is anyone else with them, they will be speaking English, or Greek, if they want to keep up appearances.

The names Erebus/Percy, Aether/Nico, and Nyx/Thalia will be used interchangeably, depending on whose point of view the story is currently in.

First half of the chapter is from Percy's point of view, from his fall into the Vault to his landing on Earth. Because he's recluse enough not to tell the others but they'll still affect him anyway.

Next chapter is where all the fun is. This one wraps up everything that came before into a nice little package, so that characters' problems are suitably and realistically dealt with instead of being pushed into the metaphorical closet. Originally, it was going to be one chapter, but when it ended up over 40k words, I figured it would be better if I split it up.

Kudos to anyone who can pick up on what's going to happen.

* * *

><p><strong>Review Replies— Johanna Night<strong> - thank you! I'm happy you like it. **The Lamentation -** of course; you're not getting rid of me that easily, I'd imagine :) **Clefspear** - hmm... I have to admit that I've become disillusioned with much of the PJO fandom. I haven't actually read a Percy Jackson story for quite a while now, so I'm afraid I can't give many suggestions. Sorry about that. **ToTiredToLogIn** - wish fulfilled (winks)! **EpicReads** - thank you. I'm glad you liked it, and I hope that this chapter does not disappoint! I do wish I could actually publish something someday, but I doubt I could actually do so, much to my immense chagrin. **Guest** - then Rick's getting a nice little bash on the head for doing that. **The Real JosephineSilver** - Jason was irking me. I couldn't help bashing him a little. How was exams? Mine were fine. Excited for college (English major, I'd assume)? Hope that problem with the Wattpad plagiarizer was solved—I don't understand how people think they won't be caught for such matters. In regards to DW, unfortunately, I've only seen a little bit of Day of the Doctor, but it was pretty good from the little bit that I saw. **Kampe - **thank you! Here it is. **hazel levesque - **not at all. The majority of the action will be next chapter, where Gaea's plot finally reveals itself. Personally, I feel that the Primordials are not adequately portrayed in canon; they're older than the gods, possibly the universe itself, and yet they are so easily tricked? Percy-Reyna interaction will come soon (once she gets over her hatred of him). **Dearest Destiny -** yes, they're wearing their demigod forms as disguises. Is there anything in particular you would like me to explain? **LordofVengeance** - thank you! I hope you enjoy this coming chapter as well :) **The Nutty Squirrel -** not a problem; I'm glad you're asking. Yes, Void was the "fake" Erebus, but Tartarus tried to possess Erebus to take over his body, ultimately failing. Percy is Death's right hand, but there must always be a Death to right the balance of the world, so when the first Death was unable to fulfill her duties, Percy "became" the new one, only not by name. You're quite right; Erebus is a bit messed up in the head, and when he truly gets angry and loses it, you can expect it won't be pleasant for those his ire is directed against. **NegatortheBalance** - tell End that he's welcome to visit Erebus anytime he wants. As to who Reyna is: that would be telling, wouldn't it? I'll leave you to figure that part out ;) **Xuan Tian Shang** - don't worry, I confuse myself (grins). Tears of a Spirit - of course I remember! Hope your muse is co-operating with you (god knows those things never seem to work properly even in the best of times). Your stories are coming along nicely :) **thefirstTITAN** - ah, I'm truly very sorry about the wait. I thought I could get it out in time, but apparently not. **EnigmaticPerson-** No, the minor gods never were caught. Nico and Thalia don't actually know anything yet, though they suspect. Percy is the only one that truly does. The Olympians have not been made aware to their plan—it's as much of a mystery (or enigma, if you prefer) to them as it is to Gaea. In regards to the runes, the runes actually exist (Old Futhark/Norse) and the meanings exist as is. And Hazel's rebirth will be covered, no worries, but thank you very much for the suggestion :) **Guest** - thank you! **Guest** - I'm glad you like it, thank you. **BurningBunny** - yes... success indeed. Although I must say that you're the first to want #999, but hey! Originality works. **Alexja2013** - congratulations on #1000! And, thank you for reviewing so often. I'm afraid I'm a little bit swamped and I'm not sure which of your questions still stand, so if anything comes up, leave everything here and I'll answer all of them for you. **Shiroyuki143** - thank you :) **The Son Of Hades123** - good catch on that foreshadow. **ShadowWalker207** - thank you! **gues** - it was one of Reyna's dreams (but remember that the lines between realities is very blurred. If you prefer, it could have been one way Percy dealt with Reyna). **psychedelicLights** - yes, but Erebus is Percy; he's just saying that Percy is dead to fool the gods. In Percy/Erebus's opinion, everything that he stood for as Percy died with him in Tartarus, leaving him cold and dark, becoming increasingly like Erebus. **TheAmazingAli** - JosephineSilver and I have known each other for some time. I remember explaining ffn's formatting to her when she first began, and we do talk occasionally via PM. In regards to Percy/Reyna, romance is promised, and therefore will be given, don't worry! I can't explain a whole lot right now without giving away the plot, but Reyna will be the first to fall for Percy. Percy reciprocates in his own odd little way, though there will be conflict on both of their sides. Thanks for the cc; I'll be sure to keep it in mind :) Percabeth... I might. I can't say that I never will, and I used to ship the pairing so very badly, but the more I think about RR's characterizations, I don't feel like they would be the best match. I could try to write a one-shot, but I doubt many people would want to read it, lol. **Alex2909** - thank you! **Guest** - who? ;) **Guest** - think about it. **Menaphite** - I've actually never played Dragon Age: Origins before. I found Morrigan interesting, so she got to be my profile picture. Never really was a fan of how the Primordials were depicted as foolish and vain in canon. I haven't actually read the HOH books, but I've seen the synopsis and _how on earth_ was Nyx fooled so easily by Annabeth? I just... no. **FailedExperiment412** - thank you! **ZonCon** - anything in particular? **Blackravens5** - I am very sorry that I haven't answered your PM. I vaguely recall there being one, but for the life of me can't find it in my inbox... **Magery** - oh, stop. You're making me blush. I'm very happy you like it, thank you! I never thought that Blackened Dawn would ever have been popular, and it makes me very glad to see that there are some who do enjoy it :) **jadedquartz** - thank you! **Faith** - you're very sweet, Faith. Thanks for all of the encouragement. If you want to thank my teachers, then thank everyone on this wonderful site, because I literally learned everything on here (because English isn't really my first language, and all of my LA teachers hated me). I'm flattered by your praise! :) And, I really do promise that I won't abandon it, even if I haven't updated in a while. Nevertheless, here is the next chapter and I hope that it does not fall short of expectations. **SamSing** - thank you! I'm very happy you like it. One of the only reasons I wrote Blackened Dawn was to see if I could create a Chaos!fic that was completely original. (Though there really are too many high-school-fics on the archive nowadays). **Firehedgehog** - not anymore! **OoOXylionOoO** - thank you! Here it is. **person354** - thank you :) **DoodlingPlume** - thank you; I'm glad you liked it, and hope that it continues to be intriguing to read!

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>"Because there's more to the Vault of Ashes than meets the eye, and there's more to Percy than he'll ever let on."<p>

**Uruz**

ʃɿ

_Rune for power, endurance, stamina._

* * *

><p>the ground opened up beneath him and he falls into the yawning black night.<p>

falling, limbs like a rag doll's, helplessly tossed around as if he weighed nothing. dark, dark. cold. the smell of rot. the stench of death.

sees nothing but eyes, eyes that stare at him as he falls past. green, yellow, white. they are the only sources of colours in this world of monotonous black and grey. white is nothing more than a nonentity.

and why here, of all places? why is he here? unfamiliar. tastes of raw evil, pressing in from all sides. something inside his chest swells with bitter indignance, for some reason or another. how dare they keep him here.

he asks the void his questions, but only his own voice echoed back, thin and tired and sad.

there was no end to the falling.

* * *

><p>he gets his answer soon, and wishes he hadn't.<p>

it's not a second chance.

there isn't just black and white, green and yellow and grey. he soon finds that red is also found in abundance, here in this endless pit.

the other inmates smile. their teeth glow white.

**Mine. You are mine,** they say, all pale faces and leering red lips and sallow cheeks. a sea of them, their heads bobbing like an infested tide, stringy hair covering burnt scalps. Tearing, thrashing, killing.

and they smile. doesn't know why smiling isn't forbidden. never feels anything happy anymore. too much fear to feel anything else; it pushes everything else away.

steel knives. celestial bronze. red, red.

resplendent gold parts the black and white; the dawn breaking across the ocean's tempestuous surface.

for an instant, he almost feels relieved.

gold. the sun. the light.

his salvation.

* * *

><p>(there's too much of it)<p>

gold could be just as cruel. just as cold.

kronos shines a deeper gold than apollo. even after so many years, even in the absence of his presence, the thought of the titan still sends disgusted shivers down his spine (maybe even a bit of fear).

images, images of death and despair and destruction, of gaunt faces, sallow cheeks, and half-crumbling fingers reaching out...

the vultures come tonight.

* * *

><p>roses are red<br>violets are blue  
>sugar is sweet<br>and so are you

he wrinkles his nose, trying to piece the fragments of his mind together... he thinks he can hear someone singing it to him, her voice warm and rich as she tucks him into bed...

it dissolves into nothing.

he can't remember.

corpses are blue  
>blood is red<br>you're going to die  
><strong>off with your head<strong>

then there's full-blown laughter. raspy. it hurts, but can't stop chuckling. demented and twisted, he finds it oddly funny. a more fitting rendition; a distorted, grotesque image of what he once treasured.

oddly apt.

ah, he's laughing again. has he finally gone insane?

it's not as scary as he'd thought. he embraces it with open arms, that hazy film across his eyes that obscures everything from view.

(the world is better this way)

* * *

><p>he welcomes the pain.<p>

it's wrong on so many levels. he's shouldn't be like this: olympus' golden savior, the unsung hero of the Primordials, laughing as the blades come, laughing as iron fists rain down, laughing as their mocking jeers are masked by his own screams.

he laughs until he has no more voice left.

but **pain** tells him he's alive and so he hangs on.

* * *

><p>lights, colours spin in a dance, flaunting their freedom. he giggles, reaches out one bound hand, attempting to imprison the fleeing spots between his fingers. the chains rub against chafed wrists.<p>

silver, silver. black, too. no more red. he can't see red. red has mixed with black, forming brown. brown is everywhere. and grey. the grey of annabeth's eyes.

he's giggling again.

**Die,** he says to them,** die, die, _die_**

and in the end, he's not quite sure who he's talking to.

* * *

><p>a brief moment of lucidity.<p>

he blinks the grit out of his eyes, groaning slightly as his voice issues a hoarse, rasping whisper in response. pushing himself up on manacled wrists, he looks around helplessly.

the beat of carrion-like wings. the last moments before sunset.

was all of this order's idea? his vengeance? did he decide that punishing him was far more important than avoiding fraternization with the enemy, and they had all come up with this torture for him?

oh, oh, he feels so special.

the first vulture alights on his shoulder, gazing down with those beady black eyes. its beak is red. still red.

the second on his knee.

the third is the first to tear into flesh.

he howls and pulls against his chains. chafes. does not break. he feels himself slipping, that precious second of awareness slipping away

he's splintering

fragmenting

words do not come easily

THIS IS WHAT THEIR SAVIOR HAS BEEN REDUCED TO

he lets the insanity slip back into control.

he throws back his head and laughs.

**What savior?**

* * *

><p>and then there's water—he's drowning again. curious. can a renounced son of poseidon drown?<p>

no. not completely.

seems like he can't even die properly.

his torturers pull his head up for a moment —such a brief, precious moment, more golden than anything the world had to offer— before he's plunged back down, down into the depths of the cold and the bubbles and far, far away.

* * *

><p>in those moments when he's left alone and allowed to curl into a ball on crimson grounds, revenge pulls on his heart like a siren's call. he can destroy the gods —the primordials— with a single snap of his fingers. he can destroy the world if he so wants.<p>

the power is addicting. it's a thrilling, dark thrall. he's tempted to relinquish control of himself and let the primal instincts of his dominion take hold, but just as suddenly, white-hot fire sears through his veins, burning away the darkness that was his soul.

he throws back his head and laughs and laughs until he's not sure if he's screaming instead because it's all mixed up inside of him and one sounds no different from the other.

order had really thought this through.

* * *

><p>he knows he was once <strong>erebus<strong>, the primordial of darkness, just as he was and is still thanatos, but somehow **percy** at the same time.

only, could he still call himself percy anymore? he doubted anyone would really recognize him like this. he wouldn't even recognize himself.

he's cracking again. that familiar pull of darkness is tugging upon his consciousness. but the solution is simple, slyly so, and he can almost convince himself that ignoring the problems will make them all go away.

so he hangs on and refuses to die because that's what survivors do.

* * *

><p>one day, it will end, one way or another.<p>

**for nothing is eternal, is forever**

* * *

><p>on hindsight, tartarus is nothing in comparison. he falls out of the endless pit and into the <em>vault of ashes<em>.

it's been a while since he's last seen the sun, or some semblance thereof. brilliant, warm, comforting.

he had forgotten how scorching it could be.

**void **evokes emotions inside of him that he had thought long gone. this internal fire that burns and burns until he thinks he's just one giant fireball from the inside out.

anger, hatred.

perhaps there's a bit of **fear** in there too, though he would never admit it to anyone else.

but even feeling the fire of hatred seeping into his bones, restoring power and life, is better than feeling nothing at all. and for that, he is thankful.

* * *

><p>once, when he was little, he had stuck his hands into a roaring fire in the hopes that he would feel warmth, even if for a single moment. even as his hands blistered and bled and were unrecognizable for months afterwards.<p>

now, he would gladly do the same, and let his body be burnt to ashes, if only to escape the **cold.**

* * *

><p>He doesn't really remember Void. Vaguely, there's a recollection of his past self and the other, and they're laughing at something he said. He can't remember any of this.<p>

Cold lips press against his.

and all is lost. he feels something inside his very being torn away, consumed.

the memories are gone.

**who are you?**

he closes his eyes and his heart and waits for the end of time. cold, cold ice.

**i don't know**

* * *

><p>last time, he was an inane corpse. this time, he is a statue. a statue with wings and chains and is carved from the essence of his nightmares.<p>

of course, he's still an inane corpse. his body is still wrapped up in chains somewhere beneath the layers and layers of rubble. his soul is the angel—corrupted, gleaming with unholy light.

like lacrimosa (void), on that snowy winter morn so long ago. he finds it ironically funny.

chained, he will freely admit to being, but there's nothing even remotely angelic about him.

* * *

><p>the cold presses in, taking a little bit of him with it every time. after a while, he forgets his own name. it's not as if it was particularly important, anyway.<p>

* * *

><p>unconsciousness comes. he thinks she looks very familiar.<p>

her hands are soft and cold, her eyes are sad, but there's a certain delirious edge to it that takes the pain away.

**it's time to go**, she says.

he comes willingly. after all, there is nothing left for him here, save for a broken, empty shell.

he never looks back.

* * *

><p>he dreams as the mountains crumble and the age of mankind fades into nothing more than a distant memory.<p>

* * *

><p>when his prison finally cracks open, aether is there. nyx comes soon after. he finds he likes her in such a broken state of mind. they can understand each other perfectly, and for once, she listens.<p>

but no human voices speak to him that night.

aether carries percy's limp body in his arms with a fevered desperation. percy's soul floats behind him, creating a blurred white afterimage that feels sticky with rust and clammy with frost.

even though it has been detached from his body, he feels the warmth from aether's body spreading through his.

and feels just a little bit of that residual **warmth** warming his ice-cold heart.

* * *

><p>the merging of his soul back into his body is painful. once, where he had felt so light and free, now he is riddled with pain and scars and it feels like his organs are trying to spill themselves out of his mouth.<p>

he groans.

can he go back to being a spirit?

**please, erebus,** aether pleads. **we need to get out of here.**

behind him, void is approaching. void, who had taken whatever hope he had kept closest to his black heart. and he hates him for that —should hate— but somehow, cannot muster up the energy to care.

nyx says nothing. she tugs on his sleeve and gives him a toothy grin.

void approaches. he's wearing a familiar face—his. only, it's twisted into such an unholy expression none of them had ever recalled seeing on erebus', to the extent that it may as well have been completely foreign for all the resemblance it bore.

aether pushes nyx behind a pillar, and shoves percy into her arms, and places one finger over his lips.

she only takes his hand, wrapping a slender hand around bloodstained ones. there's nothing innocent about nyx, but for the moment, she played the part so heart-rendingly well.

**believe,** she whispers.

her fingers are brittle. he has the impression that they would snap if he applies too much pressure.

**we have to go,** aether says to nyx urgently. **we can't rely on erebus to open the labyrinth for us. void is catching up. i'll hold him off. the two of you must run. take erebus and go.**

but she only smiles thinly and shakes her head, as if aether is nothing more than a great big child, whose judgement is obviously impaired.

**believe, **she says again, slightly exasperated.

she's talking to both aether and percy, it seems.

**nyx**...

he can hear the footsteps now. void is almost upon them.

It's time.

aether steps forward.

**your fight is with me, void.**

young, foolish aether. it has never been about him.

Percy opens his eyes. Lights dance in his vision, bright and thunderous and beautifully thrilling.

**on the contrary, i believe this will be my pleasure.**

* * *

><p>it's true, he's weak. but he's not a primordial for nothing.<p>

he gets them safely onto earth. void was lost with some difficulty. of course the entrance had to be in the underworld, and with his luck, he sent them into the styx.

the water burns.

they fall from the sky like comets.

* * *

><p>something cold snakes around him in an embrace, freezing him into place. he's too weak to struggle.<p>

ice.

alaska?

well. it could be worse. at least the gods can't get to them here.

* * *

><p>someone's trying to break apart his cocoon of ice. he feels the energy burning through, searing through his system, giving it a kick-start.<p>

dark eyes are the first thing he sees.

* * *

><p>The giants want to use him to host Tartarus. Tartarus want to use Aether and Nyx as weapons. Weapons of mass-destruction.<p>

Did they really think he would agree?

Sometimes, people are too stupid to try to be diplomatic with. Sometimes, violence was the only —and most satisfying— answer.

He rips them apart.

Then, Gaea comes in her shawl of dirt and bat dung. She speaks meaningless promises.

He's about to let her go —after all, she was a Primordial, therefore kin; he owed the gods nothing— when she brings out the screaming and kicking little boy and forces him to his knees. He sees the black hair and the green eyes that are wild with fear.

A mirror image.

They _dare_.

pontus looks scared.

something inside of Percy breaks.

**gaea,** he warns.

her eyes are wild with firelust. she does not listen.

**kill him,** she says.

percy can't get there in time.

pontus' cry for him dies on his lips, lasting just a fraction of a second longer than the light of his eyes.

* * *

><p>the rest of the day is lost in a haze of red and a splatter of gore.<p>

* * *

><p>it finally makes sense, in the way the world had never bothered to for him.<p>

chiron had always been right. mortals can be oddly perceptive. the mythologies —if only he'd paid more attention to them, none of this would have happened. no one would have had to die. he should have known more about this world he was unceremoniously thrown into; not just the ones about the monsters, but the ones about the gods and all that came before them.

he should have known better.

(pontus was once listed as a consort of gaea)

* * *

><p>even after days-weeks-months-years, he hasn't forgotten and knows he never will. it is not the first murder he has seen, nor will it be the last, but was the first to strike him so clearly. he cannot fathom why.<p>

nevertheless, hate grows inside of him and soon it's all he feels.

* * *

><p>it takes a while to put himself back together. he doesn't sleep, because to sleep would be to give himself up to the darkness, and he can't really be held accountable for what he does in such an unstable state of mind.<p>

**aether.**

**nyx.**

day and night.

but, no. they were once and are still thalia and nico. that is who they are, first and foremost. his cousins. his family. his friends.

is he not as alone as he'd thought?

aether slings one arm around his shoulders and the other around nyx's neck. grinning, he pulls them together for an unexpected group hug.

he is barely able to stop the flinch in time. it's been so long since he'd been touched without the intention to hurt. he knocks heads with nyx, and the two of them exchange annoyed glances, then simultaneously turn to growl at aether.

**i'm going to kill you,** she says.

aether sticks out his tongue.

**you're going to have to catch me first!**

and as he watches them bicker, he smiles. the expression is faint. it's nothing like the howling he'd done once upon a time.

though some things change, others never will.

* * *

><p>he doesn't know what to think of the gods. it makes his head hurt.<p>

He wonders how long it's been since he's heard the crackle of lightning, and the accompanying shake of thunder that cracks the world into two. He wonders how long it's been since he's seen chiron snatching away mr. d's wine with a disapproving frown. He wonders how long it's been since his father had wrapped him in a hug, making the world tickle and smell of salt water and freedom and of being safe.

He wonders what kind of insanity has struck him this time.

sometimes, it's better not to think. maybe this whim that has struck him will go away soon.

* * *

><p>It doesn't.<p>

But, hate is mercifully stronger. Love has no dominion in this world.

So he closes off that part of his heart and waits and waits for it to die, like everything else inside of him that already had.

* * *

><p><strong>percy is dead,<strong> he tells the olympians. some look sad. others, resigned. yet a few more show no emotion whatsoever.

it's true, though. he is gone and it is by their hand, theirs alone.

nyx and aether look secretly heartbroken, though they do their very best to hide it from him. he wonders if they're mourning for percy, or for the martyred hero they had come to depend on.

how many knew the difference?

angered at the thought, he tells them,

**he's not coming back to save you this time.**

—because percy has no intentions of becoming him ever again.

and after delivering the coup d'etat, he wants to spin on his heel and get out of there, before the oppressive air and the oppressive memory overwhelms him. but he remembers pontus and his eyes.

secretly, he'd been hoping that pontus would have gotten the happy ending he had never received.

he supposes that his blood must have been cursed. cursed to keep him alive as everyone else crumbles away in the wind, spread far, far away, where they may as well be gone forever.

he stops in place. aether and nyx almost walk into his back. he turns back to the gods slowly.

**the enemy of my enemy is my friend**, he says.** I have a proposition for you.**

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Lupa put Reyna in charge of giving them a tour around the Camp. By the sour look on her face, she was about as happy of that as they felt.<p>

"—is New Rome. You will find—"

Percy had his hands stuck in his pockets and was whistling a foreign tune under his breath. Nico snickered at the street sign pointing to the Underworld. Thalia just looked bored.

From an outsider's perspective, they looked perfectly at ease— as if they were merely taking a stroll through the park. But each of them had fought together in far too many instances to not be able to read the slightest twitches and flickers of grimaces. They avoided looking at each other as much as possible.

The Roman Camp was close enough to its Greek counterpart to make the three Primordials uncomfortable, but different enough that they could keep themselves in check.

"Temple Hill. The temples of Jupiter Optimus Maximus—"

"Pretentious name," Percy muttered to Thalia, his eyes cast towards the sky. She wacked his shoulder, smiling in spite of herself.

"—did you have something to say, Jackson?" Reyna whipped around so fast that her braid almost smacked Percy in the face, had he not leaned backwards at the very last second.

Percy raised an eyebrow with an innocent look that didn't fool her in the slightest. He pointed at himself as if to say, 'who, me?'

Muttering under her breath, Reyna turned to face the marble and stone pillars up ahead, though not before shooting him a venomous glare. The ground of sun-baked cobblestone was warm beneath their feet. She could smell the scent of freshly baked bread.

"…and this is the archery range."

"How _fascinating_."

"Shut up, Jackson, no one asked you."

"Ohh… now you've gotten her ma—ow! Thalia!"

"Act your age for once."

Nico pouted at that, and stuck his tongue out at Thalia. Thalia blinked at him for a second, almost as if she were reminding herself that she had to react. Her eyes were fixed resolutely on his left shoulder, then his cheekbones, then the cuff of his oversized aviator's jacket, as though following the trail of an invisible bird.

(it was difficult to keep in character)

She decided on the universal gesture of annoyance; reaching out with one hand, she slapped Nico upside the head. Very hard.

_"Ilíthios,_ I'm not a baby," protested Nico as he rubbed the rapidly bruising bump with a scowl. "I'll have you know, I'm older that both of you combined!"

Percy smirked down at him.

…Damn it, Nico really hated how short he was in this body. As Aether, he was slightly taller than Erebus (and never forgot to rub it in) and he really wished that his height carried over in this disguise.

"Would you like a cane then, old man?" Percy teased.

Thalia nudged his ribs with her elbow, silent laughter in her eyes, the tenseness of their situation forgotten.

"Be respectful to your elders, Percy."

_"Hah!_ Like you're one to talk."

From then on, they dissolved into bickering, all semblance of control gone. Thalia usually acted as the mediator (by hitting both boys on the head and telling them to _shut up_, they were giving her a migraine), but at the moment, she was arguing as happily as the other two.

Reyna could feel one such headache coming on. She resisted the strong urge to scream.

The other Romans were looking at them. Some with disgust ("…breaking protocol… disrespectful… graceus…"), some with curiosity ("… I dunno… they don't look very bloodthirsty, and I doubt they'll be able to cram a wooden horse through the perimeter again…") and all with slight exasperation.

Reyna gestured down the valley. She wanted to get this done as soon as was humanly possible, and preferably not to see them again for the next few days.

The scent of food and drink wafted into the air, along with the sound of quiet laughter.

"The Pavilion," she said loudly.

Her proclamation was met with silence. After several heartbeats, she turned to see that the three Greeks had frozen in their spots.

She cleared her throat, a little spitefully, and said—

"Unless the Greek camp is defunct to the point that none of you have ever seen a pavilion before, I do not understand the need for such awe."

No answer.

Nico swallowed thickly. Thalia had her eyes squeezed shut.

It would not had been an uncommon occurrence, had they been new campers. They usually stared around with such silent fascination for the first few weeks, almost as if they could not really believe all that was happening and fully expected it to be a hoax.

But these were not new campers, nor were they to be impressed by something they had no doubt seen before, even in a different configuration.

No. The expression was well hidden but not well enough. It was that of a cornered wolf, dangerous and liable to strike, its eyes rolling white. She had seen it many times before—of those, it was often her presence that evoked it.

Fear.

Percy bared his teeth at them. His canines seemed sharper and more pointed than normal.

Amidst the curious eyes, Percy stepped in front of the other two, in a gesture that was almost protective. Thalia took his hand and squeezed it tight, to the point that her fingertips turned white. His other arm was slung around a shaking Nico. There was no more laughter.

He turned his back to Reyna, gathering both Thalia and Nico close.

"Eínai entáxei . I̱rémi̱se ." he whispered, his voice taking on a soothing quality. "Af̱tó den eínai stratópedo i̱mítheos . Kaneís den tha tolmí̱sei na sas vlápsei edó̱ . Tha sas prostatéf̱sei ."

_It is alright. Calm down. This is not Camp Half-Blood. No one shall dare to harm you here. I will protect you._

She did not care for them —one less Greek, the better— but even when fighting the Gorgons, facing death, they had not looked so distressed. Had it been something she'd said? She did not understand.

"What is happening?" Reyna said. "Do they need to see the infirmary?"

Percy barely spared her a glance from the corner of his eye. "No," he said shortly. "It will pass."

…which wasn't very helpful in the slightest.

Reyna gritted her teeth in frustration. Aurum and Argentum circled her feet. Their cold tails slithered against the bottom of her praetor robes, teeth flashing in the light—jagged inverted triangles.

"Jackson."

When there was no answer, she tried again.

"_Jackson_."

Argentum growled. Aurum pounced.

It was not intended to hurt, merely to get his attention. Aurum's claws dug into armor, the sudden weight making the demigod stumble. Its jaws snapped warningly by his neck—

_"Et telnys wris—!"_

That had not sounded like Greek. Then again, Reyna could not claim to be an expert in the language.

"Percy, no!" shouted Nico, his hands edging towards his sword. _"Prohibiten!"_

The automaton was thrown off with a sharp yelp, its claws scritch-scratching with a knives-on-steel kind of sound.

The amicability slipped from Percy's face. It wasn't a hard hit, but it seemed to have evoked some sort of negative reaction in him. His hand went immediately to the knife strapped to his forearm. She didn't even know how she'd gotten it over Terminus, OCD as the god was.

Gold flashed.

"_KRONOS_!" he spat, eyes wild.

The tides had turned. This time, it was Thalia and Nico who each grasped one of his arms and held him back. They dug their heels in, but were being somehow dragged forward with a strength that should not be possible in a demigod.

"Περσευσ ! Den ypárchei Krónos edó̱ !" Thalia shouted.

_Percy! There is no Kronos here!_

The Romans zeroed in on him as a threat.

The ones at the archery range swung their bows around, arrowtips bristling in hostility. Swordsmen seemed to materialize from the shadows (though for some reason, Percy didn't seem at all surprised).

The demigod scowled. It was a dark expression. A cracked light was in his eyes; kaleidoscopic. Thalia caught his wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze; a warning. She leaned forward and whispered things in his ear.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his fist, still held back by Thalia's grip, loosened. He went slack, leaning heavily against her for a second, taking in a deep breath. He turned his head ever so slightly to the side and gave her a barely perceptible nod.

"Lypámai," he murmured.

I'm sorry.

_(for almost giving us away)_

Reyna could find some grudging respect for that. "If you are quite done." Not that she would ever show it or say it to his face. "There is a busy day planned."

His voice was hollow, shaken. Sardonically, "I can see that our arrival has been met with such warm acceptance."

"You have yet to earn our trust."

Percy did not flinch away from the sword poking his chest. If anything, he looked a bit bored, now that the _fear-anger-confusion_ had faded. Thalia growled like a particularly incensed tiger when one was pointed at her.

"You threatened our praetor."

He smacked the blade away with his hand, scowling.

"Watch where you're pointing that thing. I'd rather not make that trip through the Underworld again, thanks. The Furies have been out for my blood since sixth grade."

"The Underworld?" said Reyna, her curiosity briefly overpowering her ire.

Percy blinked.

"Err… _yeah_. I was _dead_. That's kind of the _only_ reason I would be in the Underworld."

"I know that!" she snapped back. "But how did you return?"

The mask dropped. The teasing, lilting expression on his face faded away, to be replaced with one of hard grimness. Unconsciously, he straightened, carrying his shoulders with a warrior's grace and distinction borne from holding up the world.

In that instant, Reyna had no problem envisioning that he'd fought and won the war against Saturn.

"Someone made us an offer," he replied, his voice several shades colder. Despite the variability of the light, his eyes also seemed to take on a slightly crimson hue. "They would be able to get us out if we would help against this war with Gaea."

Lies.

_"Terra_ controls the gates. There is no way you could have breached their defences."

A cold, patronizing smile. The air felt more ascetic than before—that of ice; that of Alaska, a kind of wild fury that the gods could not control.

_"Gaea's_ not the only one with a few tricks up their sleeves."

Deciding to tread on safer grounds, Reyna turned away from Percy —relaxing imperceptibly as that dark aura he projected faded away—to face Thalia and Nico.

"Then I will assume that the two of you are also resurrected."

The silence was enough of an answer.

"Did… did all of you die from the Battle of Olympus?" Hazel's voice was timid and shy. She was one of the many faceless swordsmen circling the three Greeks. Nico's gaze lingered on her longer than was necessary, obsidian burning through amber.

"No." he said shortly. "Percy did, to save us all. Thalia and I were backstabbed days afterwards. If there is one thing all of us here have earned the hard way, it is to never trust Greeks, yes?"

Reyna inclined her head.

"Then you understand why I must not trust you."

"And that is precisely where you are wrong," Percy cut in. There was an odd tone in his voice; a darker, ancient rasp. "Think of us as a… third party, of sorts. We do not affiliate ourselves with the Greeks, nor are we Roman. We do not work for the gods. They cannot control us. "

"Your arrogance is overpowering."

"Yet again, you are incorrect. Our only similarity is in our… common enemy, as the saying goes. After this war, neither camps will hear of us, ever again."

"I look forward to that day," said Reyna, just a little snappishly. "I shall hold you to that promise."

"Then we are of a common mind. I would say that this tour is over, yes? The mood has been ruined anyways—"

"It was ruined long ago," she muttered to herself.

"—and clawing your way out of Death's doors is not particularly a walk in the park. If you would excuse us, we shall take our leave now, and finish whatever introductions are necessary tomorrow. Or maybe the day after."

_Or preferably never._

"Acceptable. You will have to sleep in the Fifth Cohort's cabin until the sorting ceremony commences."

Percy tilted his head to the side and smiled.

"No need for that. As I said, we are no longer affiliated with any of the gods, be they Roman or Greek. We will camp in the woods. Do not worry for us."

"I worry for the monsters, who will surely receive indigestion."

An amused smile.

"So thoughtful of you."

"If the two of you are done flirting—" barring Reyna's revolted expression, which Thalia ignored, "—I'd like to get to bed now, if you wouldn't mind. It's been a long day."

"You will not be getting much sleep in the woods."The three of them glanced at each other. Reyna had the feeling she was missing an inside joke.

"Your Roman monsters have nothing on the ones we have seen. We'll handle them, no problem."

The three of them glanced at each other. Reyna had the feeling she was missing an inside joke.

"Your funeral."

"So glad you care."

Nico rolled his eyes. Percy sighed and messed up the smaller boy's hair, to which there was an indignant cry that the latter gleefully ignored.

"Ah! Percy!"

_"_Ta malliá sou gýrize lef̱kó , Νιξο ," Percy muttered quietly in Greek. Then, his voice returned to its usual volume. "Catch me if you can, then!"

_Your hair was turning white, Nico._

Nico attempted to tackle him but missed.

"It's _on_!"

He chased Percy up the hill, through the plain, and towards the woods. Sometimes, the latter would slow down so that Nico could almost catch him, before weaving gracefully out of the way.

Thalia shook her head and followed at a more sedate pace, the arrows in her quiver rattling against each other with each step.

They were barely visible in the last, dying rays of the sun.

The Romans watched them until they were swallowed by the fingers of the trees, lost to sight. Strict military disciplining kept them in formation long after the threats had disappeared.

They turned to their praetor in a silent, unasked question, fingers tightening on gleaming hilts.

_Shall we eliminate them?_

Reyna shook her head, sheathing her javelin at her side. She walked towards the Senate building, presumably to file reports. The others fell into step behind her, armor rattling, resplendent.

"Leave them be. The monsters will have finished them off by morning—and good riddance."

-o-

"I feel disgusting."

Once out of sight, Aether shed his disguise like a cloak. Nyx's form wavered. Only Erebus' remained more or less the same, though his casual clothing was replaced with his usual intricate armor.

"It is to be expected. Suppressing your power for even a short amount of time can be extremely uncomfortable."

"Hey, wait, what are you—ouch! Aw, damn it! That hurt, Erebus!"

Erebus raised a cool eyebrow. He pulled the ceremonial dagger out of Aether's hand, letting several drops of ichor drip into a small vial. Nyx held out her hand without question, and he did the same to her, then to himself.

He watched blood well up from the cut on his palm, and as it followed the curve of his hand to trickle into the thin mouth of the vial, he said, "Do not be such a baby, Aether. Surely, you have had worse."

Aether exaggerated a scowl and nursed his now-healed hand. There was a thin pink line where it had been cut open, but he acted as though his entire arm had been chopped off.

"Yeah, but you're vicious, you know that?" he said for the millionth-and-first time.

"You have made that abundantly clear," Erebus replied wryly. "And with your newly found love for Terran euphemisms, even more so."

"Good. I—_argh_! What is with people hitting me on the head today! I swear, if I were truly a demigod, you would have caved my skull in."

"Not with that hard head of yours."

"Aye, but do stop that, Nyx. Aether hasn't the brain cells to spare."

"…I resent that."

Erebus knelt.

"Then make yourself useful. I shall begin warding the area, but we will need to clear the trees to provide an adequate shelter and fire."

Aether did as he was told, though he complained good-naturedly the entire time. He and Nyx worked with a synchronicity borne from eons of practice working together.

Erebus ignored both of them. His lips were pressed tightly together. His finger, dipped in blood, moved in small spirals and patterns barely decipherable to the eye, forming wordless commands of power and protection. All the while, his head hurt. When he dragged the back of his hand over his cheek, it left a red streak, matching the rapidly darkening hue of his eyes as the forced disguise wore off.

Green turned back to red. Percy turned back to Erebus.

_Percy._

How long ago had he been called that? And by Thalia and Nico, no less. He had seen the pain in their eyes when they looked in his direction, and in each other's. They tried to hide it from him; but oh, he'd always known them so much better than they'd ever realize.

Aether —Nico— and Thalia were sitting together, not ten feet away from Percy, their legs dangling off of the massive pile of wood they were clearing and now were treating as a chair. Percy huddled himself in the shadows, cursing his fumbling fingers, his head bowed studiously over his work.

He wondered how long it would take before they figured out each other.

_(he wondered how long it would be before they discovered him as well)_

He knew that Thalia was in control of Nyx and Nico was dominant in Aether. It was imminently obvious when they both stumbled around like drunken monkeys, trying to get used to their new bodies. He knew they pined after the things they had lost.

He knew they missed him.

And he had tried to speak, only to back out at the last moment. What was it that stayed his hand? Was it fear or denial? He believed in his own lies.

After the meeting (interrogation) with the gods only hours before their subsequent arrival to Camp Jupiter, Percy had pulled them into a side room, and told them, very gravely, that he had something he wished to say.

"_Well_?"

They had waited with patient eyes. He knew, logically, that the wisest thing to do would be to tell them now, and just to get it over with.

_"I…"_

_"Oh, spit it out before you get a brain hemorrhage, Erebus."_

_(I'M PERCY)_

—but his tongue stuck in his mouth and his once silver words deserted him.

_"I am… very glad that you are here with me now."_

Of course, they wouldn't believe him if he tried to convince them that he was Percy, either—even he understood how terribly convenient it would seem to them.

Thalia had hugged him very tightly after that. She told him that he would always have them, no matter what was to occur or what he was to do… because wasn't family supposed to stick together?

A novel concept; only, one they had yet to experience.

_"I'm Percy. Yeah, sorry for not telling you earlier. I'm also Perseus of the Darkness. And Thanatos —surprise!— but people call me Erebus of the Endless. Basically, I'm everyone you ever loved or hated wrapped into one neat, convenient bundle. Isn't that awesome?"_

…even in his head, it sounded absolutely horrible.

And talk about an identity crisis.

He supposed that the last thing that had anchored him as Percy was broken in the Vault. Where once there had been a balance, now one was dominant. Void had taken something from him—and he could not put his finger on it, for all that seemed to remain where it once occupied was fitting to its thief; a gaping, empty void.

Leaving only Erebus; the manipulator, the killer.

The lost.

"—rebus. _Erebus!" _A hand waved itself in front of his face. "Hello?"

Percy's head shot up. Nico was grinning at him, his smile so wide it should have cracked at the corners. It faltered a little when his eyes turned a deep red, the last of the green dying away.

"Is something amiss?" he asked quietly.

To his credit, Nico only hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Yeah. Come join us. It's been a while since we've all gotten the chance to just sit and talk, hasn't it?"

Percy wiped the blood off his hands, relinquishing the last of the runes with a flick of his hand. They glowed with a pale, white light, forming a translucent barrier that cut them off from the rest of the world.

Outside, the world slowed. It was as if time had no dominion in their own little pocket of the woods—what was now their home amongst the wolves' den.

"It is complete. You may release your bindings now."

Nico didn't have to be told twice.

He was the only one that had not been a part of ASPECTS, once upon a time. He had no experience in changing his appearance, changing his personality to suit that of his target, and binding himself so that his power was not above an average demigod's.

Power flooded through the clearing, in the form of a wave that crashed and broke anything it came into contact with in hisses of opaque mist.

It would have set the entire forest on fire had the barrier not come roaring to life, absorbing the wayward energy. Its translucent, pearly-white surface turned a deep, solid white that crackled whenever anyone came too close.

Percy leveled Nico with an annoyed look. He had the decency to look sheepish.

"That would have called Gaea to our side instantly," he said, unamused.

Nico rubbed the back of his head, looking down at the tiny, rune-etched ring in his hand. It was set with an obsidian black stone. Such a little thing to hold back such power. "Felt like I was drowning and I couldn't hold it in for much longer. Sorry. How do the two of you stand it?"

"Practice," Thalia said, smirking. "Lots and lots of it. Either you do or you die."

Even as she said so, she released her own bindings, and couldn't help the slump of her shoulders as the last of the day's tension left her. Rich cobalt joined white, weaving and twining through with a systematic grace—much like Thalia herself.

Finally, Percy slipped his own off, dissolving it into ink. The heady, addictive feeling of darkness swept him into its folds. For at night, when the shadows were at their darkest, he was at his most powerful. He closed his eyes, letting it fill him to the brim, then took all that was left into his hands and directed them into the barrier, which greedily sucked it in.

Eyes, glowing crimson, opened.

Thalia was staring at him.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Erebus. Whatever happened to your eyes? The colour has changed."

He ran his thumb over his fingernails, preoccupying himself with his task. He could almost imagine that the blood he'd washed out from under his nails never really went away.

"An aftereffect of the Vault, I would imagine. But let us think of other matters tonight." _No more nightmares._ "The stars are as beautiful as I recall."

How long ago has it been since he saw them last?

"Yes…" she agreed. Her voice was tired and sad. "They are particularly bright tonight."

"It'll be our little tradition," Nico murmured sleepily. His head was beginning to droop onto an exasperated Thalia's shoulder, though she didn't look much better off herself.

"Looking at the stars? Whatever for? We were once amongst them—we were once the most brilliant."

"Then how far we have fallen." Percy spoke in a flat voice that hinted of dark years, lost between dimensions and stars that burned out long before he himself had seen the end.

Nico looked at him for a very long time. He leaned backwards and kicked his heels into the sky, watching dark shapes blot out the light of the moon, that silver that matched the ardency of Thalia's arrows, the colour of Artemis' eyes.

"I guess that's true. But even if we're fools, we're living fools, and that has to count for something."

"To be able to draw breath does not equate to being alive."

"The Void has taken your hope from you, Erebus."

"Or perhaps it was never there to begin with."

"…then if you don't believe in hope, believe in us."

Percy raised an eyebrow at Nico. "I hope you do realize how… cheesy, that sounds."

Nico grimaced. "Yeah. But, you know, we'll stick around long after you want us gone. Like leeches."

A ghost of a smile brushed against his lips.

"Go to sleep, Aether," and for some reason, his voice was a little bit softer, a little bit more at peace than it was before, "being philosophical does not suit you."

Nico stifled a yawn.

"Does take a lot of effort." The words were beginning to slur together. He made a valiant effort to remain awake, but eventually, his chin dropped to his chest and his eyes fluttered closed. "I… I should…"

Percy rested a cool hand on Nico's brow. The younger Primordial's face slackened as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

He looked down with eyes the colour of a burning sunset, but for the briefest of moments it flickered verdigris, softening the harsh angles of his face, smoothing out the tenseness he carried on his shoulders.

"Good night, Nico," he murmured, and drew his hand away.

A nightingale hummed a long, soft note, welcoming the night. Leaves brushed against each other in a dance with the wind. He closed his eyes and listened to their song.

"You should get some sleep, too. I know you don't like this place any more than we do, though you have never told us why."

He had almost forgotten she was there.

Thalia's arms drew her knees to her chest, and her cheek was propped against them. Her helmet sat discarded by her feet, moonlight glimmering off its silver rim like the firelight that streaks through goblets of wine after a joyous hunt.

"We all keep secrets, dear Nyx," he replied with a dry smile.

Thalia's breathing hitched for the briefest of moments, signifying a stifled yawn. She rubbed at her eyes.

"Fair enough, I suppose. Still, I mean what I said. It'll be a long day tomorrow; you'll need your rest."

Percy shook his head. "Do not worry for me. I will rest when I see fit."

There was just a little bit too much wisdom, too much experience in Thalia's eyes when she gave him that blank, melancholic look. Percy held it, then looked away. With a gentle hand, she brushed her fingers against his cheek. He didn't move away.

"You're not alone anymore, Erebus," she said softly. "But I suppose you never really were. You've just never realized that fact."

"I suppose not. You mean well, I understand, but your intentions have created only three falling stars instead of one."

"Falling stars are good luck. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

Yes. Annabeth had, once upon a time, as they lay on a star-lit hill and watched the world go by. She had tried to teach him the constellations, insisting that they were more than 'weird lines the mortals drew in the skies' and that each had their own, individual story.

The names and mythology had long fled his memory. The Huntress —Zoë— was the only one he remembered.

"No, I do not believe so," he said. "And if wishing on fallen immortals is common practice in this peculiar dimension, then there must be many disgraced deities, indeed."

Thalia rolled her eyes, smirking at him.

"Only you would think of it that way. Fine, if you're gonna be your usual pessimistic self, then we're not falling stars. We're that cluster right over there—those three."

He could see the ones that she was pointing to very clearly, but he squinted at them as though he'd never seen them before. A faint, whispering name rested on the tip of his tongue…

"Orion's Belt?"

Thalia gave him a surprised look. "Yes. Orion's Belt. Though they may be individual stars, they are and always will be thought of as one. Such as we are and always will be."

"You're beginning to sound like Aether."

Thalia slapped his shoulder. "Oh, you wound me. Perish the thought."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it turned flat before it truly came to be. He began to turn away.

Thalia reached out and grabbed Percy's arm (and pretended not to notice the flinch), pulling him to her side, before she wrapped her arms snugly around him and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

"Just so you don't get any ideas," she muttered, blinking drowsily. Her arms tightened. "Like running off into the shadows to scare the life out of me when I go searching for you. And maybe now you'll stop brooding, having a beautiful immortal in your arms."

"...I do not brood."

A pause.

"And I am very disturbed by that statement."

"Sure, and I'm a duck."

"You could have been," Percy agreed affably. "I have no trouble imagining you as one in your past life."

Thalia buried his face into his armor and growled. He could feel the vibrations through the thick material, and hummed with a silent, mirthful laughter.

"Good night, Nyx," he said.

She blinked owlishly at him, pulling her face into a sleepy scowl.

"Unfair," she complained. "You can't just…"

Thalia passed out before she could finish the sentence.

Percy grimaced when she mumbled something incoherent in her sleep, her grip around his torso tightening to the point of pain. He wouldn't be able to disengage them without waking her up, and that was more trouble than it was worth.

Or so he told himself.

(secretly, he didn't mind)

So he folded his legs underneath him, precariously adjusted both Nico and Thalia's grip on him—in the hopes that they would not wake. The smell of ozone and a light morning's breeze was soothing, and unconsciously, his eyes closed.

He laid his head against a tree's trunk and prepared to weather the night.

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for Reyna, she saw Percy at the pavilion for breakfast, a thin, tight smile across his lips. Tension was evident in the set of his shoulders and in the fever-brightness of his eyes. There were dark circles beneath those mercurially green irises, making it clear that he had not slept in a very long time.<p>

A brief flash of smugness made her stand taller. And he said he could handle the monsters—hah!

"Jackson," said Reyna with just a tinge of complacency. "I hope you slept well."

He gave her a short nod. There were no smiles today, nor any cynical remarks.

"Reyna," he greeted tersely, ignoring her slight frown at his mode of address. She let it go for the time being.

"Where are your companions?"

"Still asleep. They need their rest."

Reyna sneered, though her sneer was more like a slight downturn of the mouth. "They would not last a day, had they been Roman." _Nor would you_, was implied but remained unsaid.

He did not react at the obvious barb, save for an amused tilt of his head in acknowledgement.

"Then it is just as well that we are not Roman."

Once again, his word choice and voice seemed different; as though he'd been spawned in the medieval ages and was only just beginning to realize it. His voice was different in its inflections and slight accentuation of specific syllables. If Reyna had not been watching him, she would think that they were different people altogether.

Jason waved at Reyna from the head table. Lupa was staring at Percy, her silver eyes sharp and assessing.

"You seem to have drawn Lupa's attention. I would advise you to stay away from her teeth."

He turned to stare back at the wolf goddess, his gaze never wavering from hers. A silent message passed through them. "Your advice is noted and appreciated," he said to Reyna.

The answer was very neutral and flat, but nevertheless served to infuriate Reyna, though she kept it well hidden. She turned to go, her platter full, though Percy's was still mostly empty.

"Take your fill and get out of my sight."

It was not diplomatic of her, yes, but whenever she looked upon Percy, she thought of burning boats and burning screams and the pirates that ravaged everything they could get their greasy hands upon. And she did not feel very sorry for him at all, for dying and rotting in the Underworld where he belonged.

And was that so very wrong of her, to wish such a fate upon he who should be her ally?

Percy tore his eyes away from Lupa's to meet Reyna's. He said nothing, but it was almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and did not care in the slightest.

"Noted," he repeated, slightly sarcastically.

Reyna sneered at his back. She turned to the praetor table and sat down with Jason, who was observing Percy from a distance.

"I don't know why you hate him so much," he said thoughtfully. "A little arrogant, a little loud, but not a bad person overall. He seems to care greatly for those two friends of his, as they do him."

Reyna moodily stabbed her orange with her fork, leaving four little round holes in the fruit, wishing that Percy's head got the same treatment.

"You would not understand."

Jason gave Percy one last appraising glance. He looked at the orange in her hand and raised an eyebrow. "No," he finally said. "I guess I wouldn't."

A particularly vicious jerk of her knife; the insides of the orange squirted out in an oozing mess. Her mouth curved into some semblance of a wicked grin, and she looked over the sticky carnage at Percy, who returned her gaze with cool eyes. He saluted mockingly.

She noticed that his platter was almost full. For some reason, it was mostly fruit, and other various assortments. There were no drinks or breads; he seemed to have veered far away from them.

She tilted her head, never breaking their gaze, and let what remained of the orange to slip between her fingers. The spurs on her knife was caked with the golden zest of the skin.

Percy did not seem at all perturbed with the mess, but his eyes locked onto the golden stains on her knife, and his jaw noticeably hardened. A dangerous glint entered his stature and his hands reflexively tightened, to the point that the platter seemed in danger of being snapped in half.

He stared straight at Reyna. Almost too straight, as if he were looking straight through her and at something more terrible.

He took an orange off his plate and threw it at Reyna. She caught it.

"Have fun with that."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away, a permeable dark aura pushing the crowds away from him.

(gold)

Collectively, the Romans watched him go, words sneered to their neighbours behind vicious hands. Their whispers followed him back to the forest in the form of a slimy, black coated monster. Only Lupa remained silent, her tail curled around her paws, her snout angled into the air.

"…I guess he doesn't like knives?" Jason's blue eyes turned to hers, as if he thought she would know the answer. She was equally as perplexed, but refused to let it show.

"No. There are plenty of knives on the buffet table. He had several of those with him when he left."

Jason glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smirked. "Maybe he's just scared of our mighty praetor, who was going to skin him like that orange if he came any closer."

Reyna flushed slightly.

"I simply am not fond of him," she said, a bit defensively. Jason raised his hands in supplication.

"I believe you. I'm not going to pry."

"I know, Jason."

Still, she couldn't ignore the twist in her gut at the thought, nor could she forget that look of hatred in his eyes, no matter how hard she tried.

* * *

><p>Nico had had trouble sleeping the night before. He had felt a solemnity in the air he had no wish to be a part of, and instead made the excuse that he was tired. For hours, he lay in tense silence.<p>

Long after Erebus disappeared and Nyx's breathing evened out beside him did he finally allow his eyes to open.

He stared at the canopy of leaves above him. They stirred in soft sighs of wind, a deep grey that seemed almost black in the variability of the moonlight. Far in the distance, a lone monster howled.

He tried to close his eyes and go to sleep, but after a few minutes even he realized its futility. There was much on his mind tonight. Too much to be cleared.

He didn't know what he should feel about the gods. True, they had not been directly responsible for his death, but they had not done anything to prevent it. And they held so many dark secrets that he was only starting to discover.

Then again, Erebus probably held more inside of him than all the gods combined.

Erebus.

Percy.

It was always difficult to remind himself that Erebus and Percy were not one and the same. There were moments when the two blurred together, and Nico had to physically pinch himself to restore himself back to his senses before he blurted out something to give himself away. By now, there were no doubt dozens of such marks scattered across his arms.

Appearance wise, they resembled each other. Same black hair, same (once) green eyes. Same predator-like cadence in their step, and when they smiled —though Percy's never left his face and Erebus' was merely a ghost of a touch— it was as though their faces had been lit up from the inside.

Beautiful and contagious. The rain after a year-long draught, long awaited, long welcomed.

But while Percy had been broad and brilliant and tangible, Erebus was the epitome of darkness, of plants withered from lack of nurture and care. He was slim, tall, his eyes shone with an unholy light, and there was no semblance of hesitation within those liquid movements.

A shadow, yes. A perfect representation of his domain, but entirely incapable of creating life—nor for sustaining it.

Nico wondered how it had come to this.

"You are awake, Aether. Are you hungry?"

Percy —Erebus— tilted his head to the side. It was a deceptively gentle, curious gesture, like that of a wondering child.

…no, they may have such striking appearances, but there the similarities ended. They were not the same.

He knew the makings of each scar (save for that crescent shaped one upon the inside of his curved palm), each quirk (but not the reason why Erebus' left hand shook so violently when he was upset), each thought (but then again, did he really know Erebus at all, or was all of it an act?)

Percy was the sun and Erebus was the moon.

(even suns can be eclipsed)

He forced a grin. The sun was rising. "Famished, actually. How did you guess?"

"Nyx may have mentioned your appetite once or twice. I would not have believed her had I not seen it for myself." There was a teasing note to his voice.

And, gods, he didn't just _look_ like Percy, but he sounded like him too. His Ordiian accent had been replaced with an American one, making him sound more warm and less threatening than he usually did—more like the demigod that had welcomed Nico to Camp Half-Blood.

There was a bright, healthy glow around him that Erebus had always lacked.

But Erebus had always been a master at infiltration. He'd always been able to pick up on the subtle characteristics that made a person a _character_. He could replicate and disguise himself with such precision and accuracy that even the original would begin to doubt himself.

As Percy, he was shorter than Erebus and all of the Primordials, but he somehow seemed taller to Nico in turn. He was always turned towards them, a kind, understanding smile on his face, his feet turned slightly outwards in that odd quirk Percy had.

He looked… happy. He excluded love and was loved in turn.

Green eyes met his own, tinged with a hint of scarlet.

Scarlet. That hint of colour slammed Nico back into the ground from the air through which he tentatively soared. Because he was reminded, all too suddenly, that no matter how much Erebus resembled Percy, they were to be disassociated.

_'Of course,_' Aether muttered in his head, sounding reproachful._ 'A mere demigod has no hope of matching our strength. Especially not to Erebus. He was always the most dangerous of us all.'_

"Aether, are you ill? You have suddenly turned very pale."

Nico jerked out of his thoughts and pushed Aether's consciousness away.

"I'm fine."

Even as the words left his mouth, he was made aware of how very fake they sounded. He was thankful that Erebus only gave him a glance and did not pry further.

"I can tell it makes you uncomfortable." Erebus released the glamour with a flick of his wrist. "I apologize."

"Nah, it's fine. You just look different. I'll get used to it, I'm sure."

"I concur."

A long, indecisive pause. Erebus put the platter down. Nico saw that it was full of fruit, and to his (unspoken) relief, no bread or drinks were there.

"Help yourself. When Nyx wakes, she may do the same. I will be back soon."

Nico knew better than to ask him where he was going.

"What about you?"

Erebus gave him that thin smile that he had taken to mean 'do not be foolish.' It was a very common expression as of late.

"I have already eaten. Don't worry about me."

And with that, he stepped out of their makeshift camp.

Another form shimmered over his own, distorting his appearance to something that was less ethereal and more down to earth, binding his power so that it was no more than a demigod's. His silhouette was framed against the opaque rune barrier, shimmering black for a moment before it faded away.

Another spike of pain twisted in Nico's stomach. He looked down at the plate, feeling hunger die away.

Why had he agreed to this—this _masquerade?_

He hadn't wanted to. But something possessed him and he found himself agreeing before his brain caught up with his mouth. Besides, he couldn't say no to Erebus; he just couldn't bring himself to, not after everything that had happened to them. He knew Nyx felt the same way.

They were the only ones left, after all.

What had happened to the other Primordials? Did they get out in time, or were they buried beneath thousands of feet of stone? Were they enslaved by Void?

Were they alone once more?

A finger poked his forehead. Startled, Nico looked up to see Nyx staring at him, her eyes a vivid mix of Prussian Blue and cyan.

"You're thinking too much," she said.

"What—?"

"I know you too well, Aether. And I'm telling you to stop worrying. The Primordials can handle themselves for the time being. Last I heard, Chronus was holding his own pretty well, and he was rallying the others. We'll go back once we've settled things here."

"I—I guess."

"Where's Erebus?"

"Gone somewhere. He left some fruit, if you want any."

Nyx's eyes scanned the plate. Something too fast to be deciphered flickered across her visage. She looked up at Nico and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm surprised there's any left," she said, poking Nico in the stomach teasingly. Nico swatted her hand away.

"I wasn't hungry."

Nyx's smile faded. She was silent for a very long time. Nico stared at the plate, resolutely counting the freckles on an apple's splotted skin to keep himself busy. When he reached fifty-nine, Nyx said, so softly that Nico had to strain his ears to pick up on her words:

"It was nice acting."

Nico blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yesterday," she clarified. "At the pavilion."

Terror. A clenching terror had overtaken him. The world had turned dark before his eyes. He had felt Erebus' vice grip on his shoulder, and the pain from their contact helped him come back to his senses.

He hadn't been acting.

"You too," he said, even though his tongue felt thick.

Nyx drummed her fingers absently against the side of her knee. Her eyes were downcast.

"Yes… I thought it would be a nice touch." Her voice was distant, as though there were thousands of gallons of water between them and he was trying to pick up on what she was saying from the other side. "After Erebus told us about them and that we had to pretend, I did some research."

"…yeah."

Nyx gave him a sideways look. "Aether, researching? I'm impressed."

He tried to appear offended, but the slight twitching of his mouth ruined the effect.

"There's a first time for everything."

"Indeed," a new voice cut in," Such as, this is the first time I have left the two of you in the same vicinity, and you have neither tried to eviscerate each other nor tried to destroy your surroundings."

"Stop doing that, Erebus!" Without looking behind her, she lobbed an apple at the shadows. Nico almost had a heart attack when Erebus stepped out and caught it with one gloved hand. He had a dark shape slung awkwardly over his shoulder. Nyx took one look and sighed. "What did you do this time? At least we have places to hide the body."

Erebus smirked. He let the corpse fall to the ground. Nico came forward to inspect it.

"A deer? Where did you find one?"

"In the woods." It was said in such a matter-of-fact voice that Nico felt like smacking the older Primordial.

Nyx turned the animal over. An arrow had gone through the eye socket and out the back of the head, splitting through the brain, killing it instantly. She looked up at Erebus, who was setting down two rabbits, whose paws had been tied together with snares that hung from his wrist.

"Single shot to the eye. Where had you learned to shoot like that?"

Erebus raised an eyebrow at her. "I have always been able to shoot, Nyx."

Oh. Right. Nico had overlooked that himself. A pained expression overtook Nyx's countenance, but she forced a smile and said, "I'd forgotten."

"Do not trouble yourself. I prefer to use a sword, but arrows were quicker and less messy than the alternative."

"I didn't know you had a bow."

Hesitance. "I do. It was from a very long time ago—a gift, I suppose." Nyx waited. Erebus took something out of the shadow of his cloak; a sleek, curved instrument. With a quick snap of his wrist to either side, the rod unfolded to reveal a gleaming bow, inlaid with depictions of silver. "And I could not find an arrow, so I suppose you will have to forgive me for that."

As Nico pulled the 'arrow' out of the deer's brain, slickening the entire length with fluids and grey matter, he realized that it was, in fact, nothing more than a sharpened stick, knobs and gnarls and all.

"I've got to remember not to piss you off when you have anything in your hands."

Erebus looked amused.

"That may be somewhat impossible for you."

Nyx let out a little huff that sounded vaguely of laughter. She was making her way, slowly but surely, through a pile of strawberries.

"Have you eaten yet, Erebus?"

"Yes..."

In a single fluid motion, Nyx scooped up another apple and threw it in Erebus' direction. He caught it before it could hit him in the face, then stared at the fruit like he'd never seen one before.

Nyx made an almost-but-not roll of her eyes. She looked him in the eye, sighing in exasperation. "Liar."

Erebus looked tempted to throw the apple back at her.

"I am well aware."

Erebus bit into it slowly, sitting down, releasing the glamour that disguised him as Percy. "We will not go to the demigods today," he said. "Take today to adjust to our surroundings. We may be here for a few months, depending on our course of action."

"We will have to return to Ordis eventually," Nyx warned. Erebus' fist clenched, before forcibly relaxing.

"I know," he replied tightly. The half-finished apple erupted into a sudden burst of hellfire. He didn't seem to notice. The others didn't react; they were used to this by now.

"Perhaps… perhaps we should go to the Camp today?" Nico mused thoughtfully. "Show them what we can do."

"We do not know if there is a spy in the Roman camp." Erebus' voice was firm. "If all goes well, Gaea will be attacking in two days' time, though I am not sure how she will do so. It would not do for her to recognize us, for she will know both of our identities well."

"You're taking this very calmly."

Erebus put on what Nico believed to be a smile. After looking at Nico's pained expression, he abandoned any attempts and instead faced him with a blank expression.

"I will kill her," he said. So simply. There was no doubt in his voice, only conviction. "I will have her head."

Nyx sighed, her brow lined with worry. "I know I cannot talk you out of it, but… be careful, Erebus."

Erebus' face softened from solid steel to liquid iron. He pushed off from the tree he stood beside and took two steps forward, almost hesitantly. Quietly, he raised his arm, fingers brushing against Nyx's cheek with a nostalgic touch, before gently taking hold of her chin.

"Look at me, Nyx."

She did.

Erebus touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

"Do not worry for me," he whispered affectionately, "I shall be alright."

Nyx laughed through the sudden surge of tears that sprang to her eyes. "Liar," she murmured.

Erebus' eyes crinkled at the corners, a small, genuine smile breaking through his mask of ice.

"You know me too well." Still smiling, he brushed his lips against Nyx's forehead. She shivered at his raw touch. "But as I said, I will be fine. You needn't fret. I can take care of myself."

The last time he said that, he'd gotten himself landed in the Vault of Ashes; a place that wasn't even supposed to exist but somehow did.

It will be better, this time around.

"I'll hold you to that, then."

…won't it?

-o-

The rest of the day passed in uneventful silence.

Erebus slipped off sometime around mid-day to speak to Thetis (or Lupa, as she was more commonly known). Even after several hours, he had not returned to their camp. To pass the time, Nyx had coaxed a fire out of dampened wood, and was now in the motions of skinning, preparing, and smoking the deer so that it would keep. Her hands, up to her elbows, were stained red. Her gauntlets lay beside her, discarded for the time being.

And Nico… was not sure what to do. He'd climbed up a sturdy (and oversized) acacia tree in a vain attempt to flee from the smoke of Nyx's fire and in the hopes of being able to see the sky.

But neither the sky nor the smoke were feeling particularly complacent today. The smoke only got worse the higher he climbed, and the sky was overcast with grey storm clouds. He could taste ozone in the air, mixing with the sour acerbity of burning wood.

One leg extended before him and the other hugged to his chest, Nico leaned back against the tree's trunk and stared up at the sky, watching fingers of smoke swirl up in a curling question mark towards the runic barrier. It hummed a faint, opalescent white, the color of cloudy pearls.

If he were to jump from this height —it was easily five or so stories high, for Nyx was only a dark blob on the ground, and the fire a winking red spark— would the wind be able to lift him up, or, weighed down with his troubles as he was, would he crash into the ground?

How painful a companion memory was. How heavy a burden.

He took a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face to compose himself, and let the wind carry him down to the ground, albeit faster than he would have liked. His boots crunched against half-dried leaves, the smell of musk briefly drifting upwards.

The little window of sky he had stared through was now nothing more than a tiny little square that shivered in the still air.

Nyx looked up at him from her crouched position on the ground. Her cheeks were red from the heat of the fire, but her fingertips were blue beneath the red of blood. When she breathed out, white mist issued forth, sputtering out when it came too close to the flames.

"Aether," she said, her mouth curving into a smile. "What've you been up to?"

He sat down next to her with a shrug. "Don't know. Just wandering around, I guess."

"You must feel it, too. The restlessness."

The uncertainty in his heart. The confusion. The urge to do nothing more than flee, run far, far away, as far as his feet can take him. As if running away will distance him from his troubles.

"The ambivalence of our entire situation? Yes."

"Erebus seems to be adjusting fairly well. Although…" Nyx threw her head over her shoulder, then leaned closer, "I'm a bit worried about him," she said in a whisper. "He seems to be taking everything too well."

Wasn't that to be expected?

He has never seen Erebus break down. Angry, sullen, hostile, yes. But never broken, not after all that has happened, not after all that has changed. He was the only constant.

"He has always been strong."

"The acting comes easily to him; he was once an ASPECT, so it should be of a second nature to hide what he does not want us to see."

"Maybe we're just thinking too much." There was hesitancy in his voice, as if he didn't really believe what he was saying.

"Maybe," Nyx mirrored. "But he's been trapped in Tartarus for who-knows-how-long, then put into a twenty-thousand year sleep, then wakes up for around a year, then is thrown through Tartarus and into the Vault. Forgive me if I do not think that it bodes well for him."

_"—how are you faring?"_

_"You mean to ask if I am sane."_

"I know that," said Nico, propping his chin on his knees. "What I mean is that maybe he doesn't want to talk about them yet." Nico had spend quite a few years in the Underworld with Hades, after all, and he had seen many that were condemned to Tartarus. When they were taken out again, they were nothing more than a living, breathing husk, incapable of the simplest of thoughts. "He probably doesn't want to bring up those memories yet. Give him some time. He'll tell us when he wants us to know."

_"The truth… can you really handle the truth?"_

Nyx turned away. "I don't want to know how long away that will be," she sighed, then closed her eyes, "but I suppose you are right." A wry smile. "None of us have ever taken particularly well to people doing things 'for our own good.'"

Nico bit his lip.

"Is it a bit…" hesitance, "disconcerting to see him—"

"—as a demigod?" Nyx twisted the ring on her finger absently. There was a strange expression on her face. "Yes… it does not do him justice."

That was not what he meant, but there was little he could say to refute the statement.

"I suppose that we're all better actors than we thought."

"Indeed. I never thought you could play off 'hyperactive emo boy' particularly well, but I see that you have been able to prove me wrong," Nyx teased.

"Nor did I see you as a punk rock girl," Nico shot back.

Instead of looking offended —Primordials seemed to get very offended when compared to gods or their offspring— Nyx only smirked.

"Fair enough."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, for there was nothing more to say between them. The crackle of flames consuming wood and the sleepy trills of the songbirds overhead was more than enough.

The moon rose in its zenith.

Nico looked up. "We should probably put out the fire now. It's getting dark, and Erebus is right to be cautious. We don't know if Gaea's sensed us and changed her plans."

"Let's hope not. I do not want to stay on this infernal dimension for longer than is necessary."

Nevertheless, she stood up. Nico thought she was going to fetch water, but she only made a pinching motion with her fingers. The fire died without protest. He blinked in surprise.

"I didn't know you could do that."

Nyx got that peculiar look on her face again. "I took the oxygen out of the air," she said softly. "Guess I've picked up things from you, after all."

Nico snorted. "And you said I was good for nothing."

"Whatever, little brother." Nyx poked him in the forehead. An almost-smile made its way onto her face, before suddenly dropping away as if she'd remembered something unpleasant. Her hand fell limply to her side, voice tinged black. "I think I'm going to sleep earlier today. Wake me up if anything happens."

Quiet footsteps.

And then, just like that, she was gone. A faint displacement of air, a slight shiver of the night, and Nico was alone again.

…was it something he said?

He would never understand women.

Erebus melted out of the side of a tree. Nico jumped in alarm. He wished he could shadow travel so quietly, so efficiently—and to not face-plant every time he landed.

"Erebus!"

"Aether," he nodded back.

"I'll go—"

"—do not bother. Let Nyx rest. I shall inform her tomorrow."

Erebus looked particularly tense. His shoulders were set in a rigid line. "Is something wrong…?" Nico asked hesitantly.

The other Primordial slipped the ring off his finger, releasing his bindings and the illusion that anchored him as Percy. He pulled down the high collar of his cloak, revealing the sizzling, hissing collar burning its way through his flesh.

"Is that…"

"_Yes_," he hissed. "Thetis does not know how to remove it. All Gaea has to do is activate it and my illusion will drop."

"You don't think that Thetis might tell the gods, do you? They may try to take it by force. It's Zeus' Master Bolt, after all."

"They certainly can try. But, no. Thetis is sworn to secrecy; she was once and is still a Primordial, bound as she is."

"But… she doesn't have to answer to you. They usually only answer to me or Nyx. You're not descended from Chaos."

Before Chaos had created the Primordials, he had planned to bind them to his will, but when he realized that they were sentient beings and thus unable to be controlled, he had them swear an oath to his person, and by proxy, his future descendants.

Erebus only smiled mysteriously, and flicked Nico's nose.

"That's what you think."

"What's that supposed to mean…?!"

"Do not worry about it, Aether. Go to sleep. I have the feeling we're going to need it for tomorrow."

Nico grabbed his shoulder before he could turn away. "Erebus…"

And yelped. Before his eyes, the Primordial's dark figure scattered into a murder of crows. He ducked as one pecked his head particularly reprovingly, and several others stared at him with laughing black eyes. They alighted on a skeleton tree by the border, shadowed feathers blending them with the night. Still, Nico could see their eyes, the light reflecting them back to him, like thousands of little black beads.

"Damn birds," he growled, nursing his head. "Damn crows. Damn Primordials."

He had the impression that Erebus was silently laughing at him. Scowling, he was about to stick his tongue out at the figure currently walking out of the darkness—

"Real mature, Nico."

—but nearly swallowed it instead.

His first thought was, _'Erebus' figured out who I am.'_

His eyes shot up to meet ones the color of a distraught sea; a full, rich green, not the pale shade of Erebus' illusion. And felt his entire body freeze.

Percy —_Erebus, it was Erebus, not Percy_— stepped gracefully around Nyx's sleeping form, sprawled carelessly over the ground, and with the back of his hand, wiped Nico's tears away. Nico was too catatonic to push him away. He hadn't even realized that he had been crying, but he supposed it would make sense, considering his face was wet and he had the irresistible urge to blubber like a small child.

Hades, he would rather Erebus had figured out his secrets than... this.

"Don't cry, Nico," Percy —_not Percy, not— _whispered, his voice soft and gentle, yet fierce like the tide. Then, he shook his head, as though he couldn't believe his eyes. "Gods, you've grown. What, it's been… three? four? years, I think. I don't know. I lost track of time somewhere along the way."

Nico was torn between snapping Percy's arm for daring to touch him, for wearing such a disguise, but also wanted for a second to pretend that this was real and it was really Percy before him, not Erebus.

He could pretend not to see the red eyes. He could pretend not to see the dark glow around him that his mask had failed to completely hide.

He could pretend for a minute more.

Because Nico had never really come to grips with it—it was _incomprehensible-unrealistic-nonsensical_; because Percy was _invincible_ in more ways than one. He would never bow to something as plebeian as death. He wouldn't just… _go_.

_(hadn't the Achilles Curse assured that?)_

Hadn't Nico done all that was in his power to keep such a fate from befalling him?

Sighing, Percy leaned forward to stand on his toes, and pinched one of Nico's cheeks.

"_Hades_, Nico. You're taller than me now. Stop crying, yeah? It's becoming really hard to reach when I barely come up to your chest."

It was true; for once, Nico towered over Percy. But in those piercing (_red_) eyes, Nico had never felt so small. So vulnerable.

And because Percy was Percy, and he'd always had an uncanny knack for reading Nico, he said nothing as a half-strangled, half-keening wail forced itself out of Nico's mouth. He said nothing as Nico wrapped his arms around him in a crushing hug, stealing the breath from his body, crushing his ribs, almost as if squeezing Percy as tight as was physically possible would be enough to keep him from disappearing.

Percy bowed his head, his cheek brushing against the side of Nico's arm.

"I'm sorry."

His skin turned brittle and a golden-brown, slowly becoming flaky and granular in texture. His eyes lost their potency; his touch was cold.

Sand.

And Nico watched as sand-Percy crumpled to the ground, becoming nothing more than a shapeless pile.

"Gaea is coming," he whispered through a deformed mouth, eyes closing. "Gaea is coming."

-o-

Nico woke up.

His eyes were wide; he was panting like he'd just run a marathon, and a thin sheen of sweat made the night air sting. His eyes also stung—no doubt from the air also.

He lay where he fell, staring blankly at the stars above, entirely unable to muster the energy to move. They were barely visible. High overhead, the tips of trees loomed over the ground, spiny fingers reaching for the sky. The moon was only a thin sliver drawn upon an inky black canvas, shining down with a weak, wan light.

A pale face stared down at him, blotting out the light of the stars.

"What are you doing on the ground, Aether?" it asked in bemusement.

Erebus offered him a hand up. After a moment's hesitation, he took it, but was careful not to pull the other down (he was only recovering his strength, after all). Erebus rolled his eyes, as if he knew what Nico was thinking and found it cute.

"Sorry," Nico rasped. His voice felt sore. It was painful to swallow. "Did I wake you up?"

Erebus ran his illusion ring between his fingers, the obsidian black stone captured in its centre winking slyly at Nico. It was warm to the touch. "No," he answered shortly. "I was not asleep. Do not worry."

Had it been a dream? He was tempted to look around for Percy, but that would surely make Erebus suspect that something was wrong. He stared at the ring, watching it spin around and around and around, somehow unable to tear his eyes away.

"When did I fall asleep?"

"Before I returned. Nyx told me you almost keeled over in exhaustion several hours prior, so she just let you be."

"…Nyx?"

Erebus pointed up. Squinting —his night vision was abysmal— Nico could make out a dark blot on a high overhead branch, one leg dangling into open air.

"Yes. She is watching the stars, I believe. You look as though you will be sick. Are you alright? It must have been a very vivid dream."

Nico's eyes locked with Erebus', and he bore into them with a fevered desperation, feeling a physical, animalistic need to make sure that this wasn't just some elaborate joke, that Erebus _wasn't_ really Percy, that it was only a dream—a nightmare.

Unbidden, his hand shot out and grasped Erebus' wrist, feeling his fingers sear through like a prison brand. He could feel his fingertips turning blue, and knew without looking that delicate veins of hoarfrost had begun to claim his skin.

Crimson eyes shuttered, flicking to the side to meet Nico's—in the light, they looked almost green.

"Promise me," he whispered, somehow pleading and in denial at the same time. "Promise me that you're not keeping any secrets from me."

Erebus closed his eyes, as if physically in pain, and wrenched his arm out of Nico's grip. He took a step backwards.

"I cannot promise that to you, Aether, for I would be lying."

"Then why? Don't you trust us?"

"It is not a matter of trust, but because it is far too complicated to explain and I would not particularly like to relive those memories. So please let it go."

It was a perfectly logical request. Nico swallowed down his pride and nodded once, though he would have liked nothing better than to grab the other Primordial by the shoulders and shake him until his brains fell out. He needed answers.

"Gaea."

Nico jerked. The startled "_What_?" tumbled out of his mouth before he could contain it.

γαίας έρχεται .

"You talk in your sleep."

_Gaea is coming._

"I dreamt that she was attacking the camp," Nico lied through his teeth. "It was only a dream. She's probably not coming for a few days."

But Erebus shook his head. He released the bow from its compressed form, tightening the tension on the string.

"I had suspected this of her," he said. "Gaea would likely attack at dawn; both Nyx and I are more powerful at night, and you during the day. She would seek to find some sort of compromise. Clever. I shall go check the border and see if Terminus is coping."

"I'll come with you."

"No. I will be fine on my own."

"Erebus…"

"I'm not an invalid, Aether," he said, just a hint of edge in his voice.

Nico raised his hands. "I know. Still, Nyx would have my head. You know how she is."

"Then I regret to form you that you will have to suffer her wrath. I am already gone."

"What—?" Nico lunged forward and grabbed Erebus with a strength that could only be Aether's. He almost expected a flock of crows to disassociate from their shape like they had in his dream.

He didn't expect Erebus' arm to _come off._

Instead, he spun out of the way and his arm reformed. He gave a crooked almost-smile to Nico.

Then, exploded into shadows and water.

The two elements separated and disappeared into the air. A doppelgänger.

...since when could he do that?

Nico cursed under his breath. There was no point chasing after Erebus now—he didn't even know when the other had created a clone and ran away. Especially with shadow travel, he could be anywhere by now.

Slowly, he sat back down, though his hand never left the hilt of his sword.

Call it paranoia or premonition, but that uncomfortable prickle at his spine warned him of bad things to come.

Craning his neck up, he squinted his eyes and walked below the tree Nyx was perched within.

_"Nyx."_ He swung himself precariously up the tree. She was too high up for him to climb. The branches were dangerously thin. "Wake up."

Cat-like eyes opened instantly. "Aether?" She slid down the trunk, disentangling herself with a frightening ease, and landed in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. "What's wrong? How did you sleep?"

"Badly," he admitted. "But that's not the point. I had a dream with Gaea in it and Erebus has gone to check up on the borders. I have the feeling that it's going to happen soon."

All hint of sleepiness was gone in an instant. Nyx jumped the remaining twenty or so feet to the ground. She slung her spear over her shoulder and began to march out of the boundaries as well.

It took several seconds for Nico to realize that she was gone. He pushed himself off with wind and let his toes touch gently onto the ground.

"Nyx!" Almost tripping over his sword, he followed. The brief hesitation in her steps was the only indication to her acknowledgement.

He sped up until they were running side-by-side. Occasionally, Nyx had to steady him when he tripped over another branch or something else that he couldn't make out in the darkness. Nico could imagine the exasperation on her face without looking.

"Maybe I should just carry you," she huffed after Nico stubbed his foot on something and almost smacked his head into a tree for the _n_th time. Nico rubbed his rapidly bruising side, and grumbled out—

"Then wait until I'm unconscious to spare me the shame."

Nyx was looking at something over her shoulder.

"I won't have long to wait, I'm sure."

"Oh yeah? Well—" His reply was cut off when a hand slid over his mouth, freezing cold, a silent warning. Exasperated, he moved out of the way and said, "I know, I know, be quiet or people will hear us. You can let go now, Nyx."

"Actually, Aether," Nyx cut in dryly. "I'm standing right in front of you."

"...what...?"

The hand ghosted up the side of Nico's face and flicked him on the forehead reprovingly. "You need to learn to be silent, little one," Erebus said.

Mortified, "I thought you were Nyx."

"I figured." Erebus raised one eyebrow. Nico flushed and looked away.

"Why did you leave, Erebus?"

"Because I do not need to be coddled. And because there seems to be a disturbance in the Caldecott Tunnel—the entrance to the Roman camp. An accumulation of power. It is very likely Gaea."

There was a tightness in Erebus' voice that belied his uneasiness.

"Should we go in disguise, then?" Nico said, even though the very thought made Nico's skin crawl. Not out of revulsion, but because though he had once been a demigod, this form felt more natural, felt more like _his._

Erebus was looking at him, as though he knew what Nico was thinking. He did not mention it. "That would be the best plan, yes," he said. "Gaea will be surprised enough for us to have an advantage."

"I guess."

After a moment's hesitation, Nico slid the ring back onto his finger. He shivered as that feeling of light and air and wind was forced beneath his skin, deep inside of him until he felt hunched over and old and powerless. He didn't like it at all.

He felt Nyx's signature die away as well. Only Erebus' remained the same.

"Erebus?" he asked inquisitively.

Nico didn't have to finish his question.

Erebus gave them a thin, tired smile. "Because mine has already been suppressed by the collar," he said. "Because I cannot use it at all, save for the simplest of tasks."

Nico frowned as a sudden revelation struck him. A sickening kind of dread in his stomach made him feel very cold.

"I always thought you were mixing the shadows into the water, and by manipulating the shadows, you were able to control the water. If not..."

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation.

"Pontus' last gift." Erebus bit out shortly. "Control over water. It will never be as good as his is—_was_, but it will be enough to pass as a demigod of Poseidon's."

"I'm sorry."

He visibly deflated. "There wasn't anything you could have done. Do not apologize."

"There wasn't anything any of us could have done," Nyx corrected gently. "So do not blame yourself either, Erebus."

He did not argue, but it was evident that he did not agree.

"The signatures are fast approaching." He turned away and let the glamours fall back into place. Nyx closed her eyes in frustration. "Be—"

As if on cue, several popping noises were heard.

"—warned."

No amount of warning was enough to prepare them to see the gods in place of Gaea.

Ares was the first to arrive. His plumed helmet was tucked underneath one arm, but it was evident that he hadn't seen the three of them yet, because he didn't freak out and try to pummel Erebus to a pulp upon first glance.

"The Olympians?"

Next was Hestia. She seemed to have been struggling with something, her face contorting in protest, before abruptly it went lax and she settled for a peaceful smile. Her eyes were as warm as Nico remembered.

"It seems so," Erebus murmured in response. "Most unexpected."

Artemis.

Nyx faltered. Her breath hitched.

Then, Apollo, glowing brilliantly as the sun with his Ray-Bans and blinding smile, stepped out of the air.

Hermes was the last to come. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck up on one side, as if he'd accidentally fallen asleep on a desk and smushed his face into it. Blinking, slightly bleary eyed, he surveyed their surroundings.

"Camp Jupiter," he said aloud in surprise. "I meant to go to Camp Half-Blood. I guess we'll just have to drop the packages here first."

"I've noticed." Artemis looked vaguely annoyed. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her silver dress. Absently, she scratched at the misshapen black bruise marring the curve of her wrist.

Nico didn't see Nyx move until it was too late.

"Mi'lady?"

Artemis' head snapped up. For a brief moment, Nico caught an expression of confused hope on her face.

A rustle of crackling leaves.

And then Nyx-Thalia was walking out of the bush, trembling from head to toe, eyes wide and full of tears. It was so full of raw emotion and so hard to fake that Nico was almost convinced it was real.

"Milady," she said again.

Nyx stopped five feet in front of Artemis, brimming with so much insecure hope. Still hidden in the underbrush, Erebus smiled softly, a very real, very gentle expression. No doubt amused at the gullibility of the gods, Nico thought.

Still, if he were Artemis, he would have broken down long ago. Hades, _he_ was going to have a nervous breakdown soon if he kept staring at Nyx. She was so much like Thalia that it hurt.

What if...?

And Artemis was standing there, stunned to the point that she said nothing as Nyx-Thalia launched herself at the goddess, squeezing her in a death hug, completely disregarding the fact that she was technically a demigod so technically that was a very bad thing to do.

"Thalia," said Artemis dumbly. "You—"

...no.

_"Get away from her!"_

Apollo gripped Nyx's shoulder and flung her aside.

Artemis still looked too shell-shocked to comprehend the situation, even as Thalia was thrown through a tree and slumped to the ground, barely conscious. It was only when Apollo pushed the knife under her throat and snarled, "Who are you?" did Artemis react fast enough to slap her brother's hand away.

"What are you doing, Apollo?" Her voice was nearing a furious scream. Her cheeks were flushed.

"Thalia Grace died years ago," Apollo replied, his eyes never leaving Nyx's. He saw her flinch. "Whoever this is, it is not her."

In Nico's opinion, Nyx played the situation beautifully. She clenched and unclenched her hands, and in a distraught, broken voice whispered, "I—no! I wouldn't ever harm Lady Artemis! I..." She took a breath and scrubbed furiously at the tears on her cheeks, as if she hated the weakness it brought. "I... I'm sorry. I'll leave if you want me to."

With great difficulty, she forced herself to a wobbling stand. Artemis' hand twitched when she almost fell over again, but Thalia righted herself stubbornly and began to limp away.

Apollo watched impassively. His face was unreadable beneath his sunglasses.

The knife in his hand reflected the image of a cracked pine tree and a broken girl.

Artemis ducked under Apollo's arms and took several steps forward, calling out in a halting voice, "T-Thalia."

Thalia stopped in place. Her shoulders were tensed. She looked half-dead, but she still made an attempt to look proud and fierce. She turned. She tilted her chin up defiantly. She looked Artemis in the eye.

These were deceptions woven upon deceptions, layers and layers of them. _Nyx_ was the spider in the middle of a silken web, creeping towards an entranced-yet-unaware Artemis, ready to wrap her in preserving silk and bring her out again once she had a use.

"My... My Lady."

Another step forward, closing the distance.

"I do not understand. How are you here?"

Here. Alive.

"I..." Thalia fidgeted with her hands. She cast her eyes back to the bush where Nico and Erebus was still hiding. Artemis followed her gaze. "I... they were chasing us. The monsters. I... I couldn't let them get _him."_ In a sudden paroxysm of desperation, she surged forward and seized Artemis' hands tightly. The light in her eyes was a yawning black chasm, unhinged. Black drowned out vivid blue.

"He's all I have left. They couldn't have him. They've taken everything else. Not him. Never again."

Artemis shushed her gently. "Who, Thalia?" she prompted gently. "We will protect him together."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Thalia immediately dropped her hands like a scared animal, and began to back away, shaking her head. "No," she said. _"You_ took him away from me, too. You did this. I remember. You're going to take him away again. You're going to lock him away. I can't let you do that. I'm sorry."

"I give you my word. As your Lady, as your companion. I will not hurt... _him."_

"I trust you, Mi'lady," Thalia said. She jabbed her thumb at the other gods. "I don't trust them. They let us rot. They let us die. After all we've done—hasn't it been enough? Aren't they happy with everything they've stolen from us?"

"I don't understand." There was genuine confusion in her tone.

"No one tried. Why try to understand a sword, or a shield? Their only purpose is to wage war. How are we any different?"

Thalia took several more steps back, now fully ready to flee.

"I thought it would be better," she whispered brokenly, in such a tiny voice that Artemis was barely able to catch her words. _"They_ brought us back. _They_ promised it would be better. I believed them. We all did. Anything was better than there. I..."

"I cannot help you if you will not let me, Thalia."

And precisely, that was where Thalia lost it. Her head snapped up. She screamed, "I have nothing left to give you, so_ leave me alone!"_ and before she really registered what was going on, she slapped Artemis across the face.

None of the other gods had seen it coming. They looked on in stunned silence.

Artemis' face grew black. She raised her hand to smite her former lieutenant —nothing permanent, nothing fatal— but just as suddenly, a blur barrelled into her, knocking her aim off course, and threw his arms around Thalia protectively.

"Don't touch her!"

The newcomer stood only a little bit taller than her, but Thalia wilted like a dead flower, to the point that he was all but holding her up. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell who he was.

Thalia was almost hyperventilating. Her hands were around her neck as if she was choking, and she kept muttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," under her breath.

"Don't, Artemis," the boy said rudely, fiercely. Then, he turned back to Thalia and in a much softer voice, shushed her, wiping away the tears "It's okay, Thalia. She knows you didn't mean it. It's not your fault."

Thalia buried her face into his shoulder. Artemis could tell from the trembling in her shoulders that she was crying—something she had rarely seen Thalia do. Her cheek stung. It hurt Thalia as much as it had her.

"I'm sorry." Her words were muffled, but the terror and regret was tangibly clear. "I'm sorry, Mi'lady. I..."

"Get your hands off my lieutenant, boy," Artemis growled.

He bared his teeth at her. His stance turned aggressive. He turned to the side, so that he was between Thalia and Artemis.

"I don't think so. You _hurt_ her."

"I don't know if we were just watching the same scene or not," Apollo broke in incredulously. "Lieutenant or not, no one lays a hand on my little sis."

"She deserves it," he replied bluntly.

Apollo's smile dropped off his face. He flicked his sunglasses off.

"Excuse me?" He spoke quietly, with an undertone of steel. This was not the happy-go-lucky Apollo, though the boy didn't seem at all fazed. He ran his fingers through Thalia's hair soothingly. She was beginning to quiet down, her quiet sobs fading to a soft hiccup.

"I'm surprised you haven't recognized us yet."

"Then you must not have been worth remembering."

"We gave you our lives. We gave you everything we ever had. Don't tell me that isn't more important."

"We are _gods."_

_(you are nothing compared to us)_

"And we are," _were,_ " your children. Does that really count for nothing?"

"You do seem familiar," Hermes said.

The boy smiled a humorless, dry smile that seemed to splinter from its intensity. Artemis had the feeling she could push him over and he'd shatter all across the ground; a fallen figure in a sea of broken glass.

A figure that had seen the end of the world in an explosion of stars, long after civilization had died in its crib.

"I'm surprised it's taken this long. Or maybe I shouldn't be. It would be just like the gods to forget about the one who single-handedly destroyed their worst enemy, and then proceeded to be locked in the same hellhole as him for the past four years."

Hestia's eyes widened in half-horror, half-joy. Hermes was too stunned to speak. Ares looked as though he'd sucked on a lemon. "No..."

Thalia gave a teary laugh. She wiped the smeared eyeliner from her eyes.

"It was three, Seaweed Brain."

_"Three,_ then," he amended with a dip of his head, "but only because the two of you got me out and we were on the run through the Underworld. Tartarus is a bitch to get out of. Speaking of..."

"It wouldn't be Tartarus if it wasn't."

A third figure dropped out of the shadows. He was staring a bit wide-eyed at the other two, but the expression was soon wiped from his face. A skull necklace winked at them from beneath the confines of his oversized jacket.

The first boy turned in a half-circle. _"You_ would know, Nico. About time you got here, though. The party started without you."

"I heard the commotion," Nico said simply. "What are the gods doing here?"

"Are we not allowed to visit our children?"

"Don't make me laugh."

"I can count the number of times my father talked to me without any ulterior motives on exactly one hand. Because it never happened."

"Percy..."

_"Percy,"_ Hestia breathed. She clasped her hands together, a brilliant smile forcing her lips apart. "It _is_ you."

Percy sketched a mocking bow, sweeping his hands out in a grandiose gesture. His eyes were a slash of green in the darkness of night. "Unfortunately so. Back from Tartarus, good as new."

Hestia flinched at the barb. "I..."

Percy cut her off. His expression suddenly became very hard and very cold.

"—am not here to talk to you about how much the Olympians screwed us over. Speak your part, then leave. I answer to no god, never again."

"Who brought you out of the Underworld? We were told it was impossible."

Percy raised his eyebrows at them, as though they were all very stupid and he had the displeasure of dealing with them.

Patronizingly, "Who else? Lord Erebus, of course."

_"WHAT—?!"_

"Is that really so surprising? He is the Primordial of the Endless. He is the Primordial of _death._ Did you think he wouldn't have the means to do so if he wanted to?"

"He said that he could not bring you back to live a cursed half-life."

"And since when have you cared for our well-being? But, if you must know," his face twisted into a grimace, "we... begged. Condemned to a game of cat-and-mouse for the rest of our unending lives... _you don't know_ what they did to me in Tartarus. You don't know what Thalia and Nico had to do to get me out. _Erebus_ promised to let us rest in peace once our task is complete. There is nothing we would like better. That's more than you've ever given us."

(and their demigod aspects would die with them)

Thalia tore her eyes away from Artemis, hardened her heart, and said, "So take your false promises and get out of here. We do not have to help you. We have every right to leave you all to rot."

"Like you did us," Nico added.

"I... If you ever change your mind," Hermes said quietly. There was guilt in his eyes. "then don't hesitate to ask."

Percy met his gaze. There was nothing left inside of him to care.

"Let us hope it never comes to that day."

Hermes looked as though the response physically pained him. As if his inability to reconcile them to the gods was a personal failure, just as Luke's treachery and death had been.

"I see I cannot convince you otherwise." With a short, terse nod of his head, he let the package in his arms drop to the ground. It landed in the mud with a loud squelch. "Then I will be leaving."

The wings on his helmet fluttered. George and Martha hissed a subdued farewell.

Hermes was gone in a flash of bright light. None of the other gods noticed that even with their faces bathed in the harsh glare, the three demigods never averted their eyes.

The remaining four Olympians exchanged significant glances.

Only after he was gone did Percy kneel and pick up the package, handling it as one handles a ticking bomb. He inhaled deeply through his mouth, tasting the air, head tilted towards the sky.

Then, dropped the package and threatened to burn it. Apollo stopped him before he could. Percy tilted his head to the side.

"It tastes of Gaea."

"It's not from her," said Apollo wearily. "Or, not directly. Gaea has been spreading some sort of virus to target the demigods. Several of the Greeks —I believe you remember Katie Gardner?— have already caught it. This is the closest I could come up to counter its effects. Have the Romans take one pill each. At the very least, it will slow down the symptoms."

"It smells... alive."

"It's derived from the virus. Of course it smells that way."

Percy slit the box open and broke one of the pills in his hand. Thick, white liquid, smelling foul, oozed out. At its centre was a hard little ball, like a white pellet.

"I almost feel as though I have seen this before," he mused, rolling the bolus between his fingers in contemplation. "In a time long ago. In another world, perhaps. But I cannot recall."

"For your sake, I hope you're mistaken. That would have to mean that you've been exposed before. There is no cure."

"I've been known for doing the impossible, whether I want to or not," Percy said dryly. "Somehow, I don't think this will be any different."

"Punk." Ares growled. The demigod in question raised an eyebrow. He wiped the goo off his hands against the ground, leaving a sticky white smear.

"Nice to see you again, too."

Apollo glanced up at the sky. "It will soon be dawn. I must be going." He looked at Percy. "For what it's worth, Perce, I'm sorry for what happened. We didn't know until it was too late."

"The gods didn't cut me any slack for ignorance when they accused me of stealing the Master Bolt," Percy shot back.

Apollo sighed. "Fair enough, I suppose. Just... get the medicine to the Romans. That Sickness that's going around—it's also one of the symptoms. The pills should help."

Percy raised his eyebrow. He re-wrapped the package and tied the string back together with an expertly crafted snare knot.

"Why don't you come in to the camp and give it to the praetors yourself?"

Apollo looked vaguely uncomfortable. Hestia rubbed her forehead absently, as if she had a headache. Flames danced between her palms.

"I cannot enter," he admitted. "The gods have been forbidden entry by Zeus shortly before he was thrown into Tartarus. Well... except for Terminus. He is the only exception, but even he can't leave the borders."

"I can call the praetors out for you then, if you'd like."

"Just do me a favor and give it to them for me, Percy," said Apollo in exasperation. "Please."

Percy shrugged. "If you insist."

"Great." Apollo brushed invisible dust off his slacks. "I'll be off, then. I'll check back soon to see if everything's working." A pause. He cleared his throat. Then—

"I'm glad you're here now, Percy. We all felt your absence keenly, even if the old grump over there doesn't admit it."

Ares scowled at his fellow Olympian. He said something particularly derogatory to him in Greek. Apollo raised both eyebrows, unimpressed. Nico smirked and cleaned out the inside of his ear with his pinkie finger.

"I'm sure. I'm going back to bed now. We'll talk more later, if we have to."

Percy linked his arm through Thalia's and Nico's. As if through silent communication, the three of them turned and began to walk back into the camp.

The gods watched them go—four stony, unmoving statues upon a black-crested hill.

Right before she disappeared from view, Thalia raised a single hand in farewell to Artemis, before she turned back to her cousins and the three of them disappeared into the fading night.

An owl hooted.

Abruptly, Artemis blinked, one hand raised unsteadily to her forehead. Her eyes were glazed over. Nursing her temples, she groaned and opened her eyes. She looked around in confusion.

"What are we doing in Camp Jupiter, again?" she said groggily. "I thought we were going to the Throne Room. I thought we were on Olympus."

Apollo grimaced. A line of tension was present on his brow.

"I... don't think I remember. Hermes must have teleported us here by accident. Where is he, anyway?" He patted his pockets absently, his usually graceful movements thick and sloppy. "I have the feeling I lost something."

"Your wallet, most likely," Ares sneered, though he too looked rather disoriented.

Artemis shook her head and stepped closer to Hestia in an attempt to put more distance between herself and the two gods.

"We can figure it out later." Absently, she rubbed the discoloured lump on her wrist. It had a slightly bumpy texture and was painful whenever she prodded it with her finger. Apollo had already examined it and claimed it was only a bruise. It was exceedingly odd, but he wasn't the god of medicine for nothing.

"We should probably get back before we miss too much of the meeting."

"I suppose. Still... I feel like I forgot something."

"There wasn't anything in that thick head of yours _to_ forget."

"Oh yeah? Well, I remember that that Hunter of yours —Phoebe, was it? I like her name; shows reverence to me, the great Phoebus Apollo— was pretty hot."

Artemis turned a very endearing red.

_"YOU—!"_

And just like that, everything was forgotten.

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><p>Behind them, a metallic little bug slowly hatched from a little white pellet.<p> 


	23. Ansuz (Intelligence)

**Author's Note—**I've been Sol for so long that I decided it was time for a change. Fear, not, it's still me.

Sincere apologies for the delay. I went through another one of those phases where nothing I wrote felt satisfactory, and I kept scrapping everything. I've also been up for the past 48 hours, so please excuse me if I'm a bit incoherent.

I'm currently doing a summer program. If any of you are in Toronto, Canada, you might see me wandering around.

**Warning for this chapter.** Blood, gore, questionable morality... or lack thereof. Watch out for the symbolism. Death's and Order's relationship will be explained next chapter. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Review Replies<strong>— **The Real JosephineSilver** - eh, math. No one cares about that crap anyway. Sorry, I'm not sure if I've replied to your PM or not; something happened with my inbox, I think, and it's deleted all of the messages in my inbox. I'm pretty good, how are you? **EpicReads** - aw, you're sweet. Don't worry about offending me; I have tough skin, and I'm happy that you're letting me know of your opinions. What would you classify as a happy ending? I'm aiming for bittersweet. **nique17** - ah, if only the demigods had your brains. **BigBird97** - yes, it's intentional, to show that Percy's kind of lost his marbles and he's not exactly able to form coherent thoughts. **prince of the seas** - thank you! **It'sTooColdNow** - thank you :) I can't tell you exactly why the gods forgot, but you can probably pick up some hints from this chapter. But no, it's not because of their G/R personas. **quillstrike** - thank you! I'm happy you liked it. **NegatortheBalance** - (dramatic pause) surely End is happy now? He's getting more minions. **Lucio BetaBlake** - aww, I'm hurt that you think so lowly of me ;) yes, it was on purpose. The capitalization was negated to slur each individual thought together, so that it functioned more as a whole than as specific fragments. **Intellectually** - nope, Poseidon's fine, or as fine as he can be in the current circumstances. He's just moping. In a sense, Hestia would connect better with Perseus (Darkness), but not with Erebus (Endless). If Percy was only just "Perseus," then it would be a close call between Hemera and Hestia. However, his mindset is more of a mixture of both his Primordial and demigod personas, which is coined to be Erebus' ideology. But anyway, nice to hear from you, and hope you are doing well! :) **Kilo1999** - is it ironic that English is my worst subject? **Jake Wolf** - thank you! I hope that this new chapter does not disappoint. **Tears of a Spirit** - as of now, sometimes Nico and Thalia suspect, but more on a subconscious level as their conscious mind doesn't dare to think into it further. Thanks for asking, I'm doing good, and you? **EpikalStorms** - aww, lol! You flatter me. Here's another update for you! **Alexja2013** - haha! I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience. **Heroina** - well, Zeus... he never was quite the brightest of the bunch, was he? **Menaphite** - originally, I was going to get right into the action, but when I was reading through the comments, quite of few haven't been able to put it together yet, so much of this chapter is foreshadowing that leads to the conclusion of this chapter, where the action finally begins. **The Invisible Pretender** - hmm, any place in particular? **Enigmatic Person** - No, I think you've got everything covered. I have the idea that Primordials don't exactly "sleep," but they need to "recharge" the energy that they have spent through their domain. Order put the collar on Percy before he was thrown into the Vault (Gaea manipulated him to do so). How did she get a hold of it in the first place? Zeus got himself thrown into Tartarus, and she took the Bolt away from him. Percy hides it when he's anywhere near anyone that's not Nico or Thalia, as he doesn't trust them with the information. The gods and the pills... well, they're often tricked, aren't they? It probably comes from Kronos' bad genes. I mean, how on earth does a rock look like a baby? Geez. And he's supposed to be the best of the Titans. I fear for their line. **Hi** - me, sadistic? Psh... **Clefspear** - I try to make the chapters shorter, but then it comes back to bite me if I don't include enough. You can probably tell that I've given up the battle. **Starlit jewel** - that's a good idea, with the timeline. Remind me about that sometime? Knowing me, I'll probably forget, lol. **frane2** - as soon as you let love control you, you've lost. **Guest** - he is, yes. Future Pontus. **SilverFang3** - aww, you're sweet, thank you :) **KaioM** - any place in particular? **Chaos Knight** - thank you. Here's that update! **DeathBright** - Thank you! I'm happy you like it, and hope that this new chapter does not disappoint. **BlueFox012** - err, I don't think I quite get you. Come again? **Cookie Seller On The Dark Side** - thank you! **EquusNanashi** - yes, well, when have the gods ever done anything correctly? **gundamboylovespjoandstuff** - thank you! Eventually, I'd think... **JackVidar** - thank you :) You flatter me. **Desiree** - you don't have to be a psychologist to know that some people are crazy, so you don't need to publish to read (winks). Thank you. **The World is a Blanket** - I've sent that PM back. Let me know if there's anything else! **Son of Pluto** **14 **- of course, I'm glad you let me know! It's not for everyone, but I'm happy you liked it, even if it's not for you atm. And, P.S... happy endings are only a matter of perspective. **KaioM** - lol, thanks!

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><p>-X-<p>

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><p>Once upon a time, very long ago, there lived a woman named Cassandra. Cassandra of Troy. The daughter of old Priam and quick-tongued Hecuba, she was rumored for her immortal beauty. Some say that it was bestowed upon her by the gods themselves. Others, jealous, claimed that Priam, having an eye for lascivious beauty, was seduced by a siren and Cassandra was the product of their unblessed union.<p>

Her charm and brilliant wit drew the attention of the sun-god Apollo, who wooed her without success. Angered, he cast the curse of his Prophecy upon her, so that she may always see the truth and never would she be believed. She did not believe it to be a curse, at first. But when her pleas continually fell on deaf ears, Troy burned.

Her gift of prophecy—indeed, divination never quite seemed to be a blessing any longer.

Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.

However Cassandra's sullen spirit passed into the hands of Hades and those of Thanatos is unclear. Some say she jumped into the vast sea after being abducted and taken as a concubine for the Greek Agamemnon. Yet others claim that she was murdered by Agamemnon's unfaithful wife, Clytemnestra. However it came to be no longer mattered, for the end result was the same, and was united in death.

The gods were cruel beings. It was inherent in their nature, aligning with those of the Titans and the ones that came before, those whose names cannot be spoken without punishment.

As a child, all Romans are warned of such by Lupa. She was never questioned.

But _he _knew the names nevertheless. He Saw them. In his dreams. His nightmares. He took it upon himself to explore what others would try and brush under the carpet out of fear and denial.

Perseus, the cold-hearted. Aether, the malicious. Nyx, the unfathomable. Chronus. Ophion. Phanes. Thetis. Ananke. Erebus. Hemera. Gaea. Pontus. And others, other phantom faces that he could not categorize with a name.

Often, he wondered what they were like. In their presence, he felt...

He walked a fine line between the brinks of the past and the future, teetering on a shredding rope of the "present." And he Felt them; he knew they knew he was there in his dreams—he saw their eyes, careless, unforgiving, as if he were a fat fly on a windowsill that they couldn't be bothered to squash. Seeing them in person only made it so much worse; that throbbing pain, like a heavy weight had settled itself on his chest, crushing him down, making it hard to breathe.

But as much as they were dangerous, they were alluring. He was a rabbit drawn to a wolf, because there was a captivating kind of beauty behind the slivered fangs and that dark, dark light reflected in their eyes. A deathless kind, the kind that didn't die with time and instead grew from mere sparks to a roaring inferno. He couldn't help but want to be close, to _touch_, because he was a moth and they were a _flame _that roared and consumed _because that was their way _and he would let himself be burned to ashes if only to be united with the beautiful _fire _that existed within them, even if only for seconds.

The gods; yes, some of them had that kind of aura. Pluto, for example. Although none of them could really compare and it was more of a cheap, washed-out imitation of the real thing. The real, breathless power left him gasping and reeling and so very, very satisfied.

The thoughts sent a torrent of hot fire through his body, making him hiss. He rested one hand against the pillar of the Temple. The cold burned through his skin. The night was rapidly turning frigid in temperature and the wind was brisk, carrying with it a light tang of motor oil and dry earth.

He dropped his hand and left. It wasn't _enough_.

_Oh? _a voice said._ Is that so?_

He would say it began without much warning. He would say he didn't know how it had come to this.

...but no, that wasn't quite true. The little signs were there all along. He just did not pay any attention to them until the birds stopped singing and the earth grew deathly still. And perhaps it was also when he looked around to find the grass withered and not an animal or another person in sight did he know that nothing good was to come.

"Salve…?" he called tentatively, slightly annoyed, trying to hide that uncomfortable prickle in the pit of his stomach with his usual mask of arrogance. There was no answer.

He was alone on the road. Curfew was long ago.

Clouds.

"Hello?"

One by one, the stars winked out, like the sudden death of light in a metropolis after a storm. The moon was the last to go, but even Diana, in all of her might, could not break through the clutches of the darkness that consumed and bathed the world in unnatural black.

Then there was wind. Particles of dust and grit carried by the rapidly rising gusts broke through the borders. And through them, he heard voices. Cold, dark, malicious. It was familiar in the echoes of times past.

_So, we meet at last, demigod._

Or maybe he imagined it. He wasn't sure. The wind was known to make odd sounds at times. Maybe he was envisioning things that did not exist... or _should_ not.

He spun around in a distended circle. There was no one there. The storm botched his inherent sense of direction. One hand keeping a firm grip on his knife, the other raised in a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes from the debris, he attempted to move in a straight line, in a direction where he could see a faint, tall blur. Sand carried on the wind whipped at his exposed skin; tiny little knives.

Rain fell.

No lightning.

No thunder.

Just rain.

_You called me here. Your curiosity has landed you in trouble, little cat._

The wind carried the scent of something feral, wild, and completely untamed within its howling breaths. He didn't smell so much as feel it as it prickled upon his skin, drawing forth a discomfiting sensation of unease.

He saw his own footprints a moment before it was washed away by the diluted verdigris rain.

There was a boulder. He felt it as it impacted his legs. He pressed his back against it. It was tall enough, and sturdy enough so that if he crouched down, it could block out all of the wind. It was rough against his fingertips, a thick cold spreading over him, wet rivulets of rain dripping down its jagged sides, puddling in the little crevices.

And perhaps… for several seconds, he entertained the hope that he was not the one the voice was after, and hunched lower. The other Romans may think him arrogant, but he was cunning, and he knew this was not a battle he could win.

This was a battle no one could win.

A slow, deep chuckle, rasping like knives clawing into chalkboards.

_There's no use hiding from me. _

The padding of soft footsteps. He probably imagined it, too. His ears strained, desperately trying to catch any sound, any at all, but all he could hear was the rasp of the gale, moaning in lamentation.

_Come out, little pet. There's no need to fear._

Something wet was dripping into his hair. He looked up. At first, he saw nothing. His eyes roved the blackness of the sky, rippling with unnatural storm clouds and jettisons of almost white streaks of wind.

His hand went to the back of his head and came back wet. He looked up just in time for that same heavy liquid to fall out of the sky. Or, he thought it came from the sky, because he could barely see the end of his own nose and thank you, he was _not _Pinnochio. He was a far better liar.

He wiped it away with one hand.

It was… thick... viscous, even. It carried a sharp, metallic odor that swelled upon his tongue and coated the back of his throat with a clammy film. Through the thudding of his heart, he inclined his face upwards again, but once more, there was nothing to be seen.

An omen? He thought of the Lycian king Sarpedon of the Trojan War, and how they said that the skies wept red upon his passing.

Several minutes passed. The dripping, at last, came to a stop.

He let himself breathe a small sigh of relief. He turned to go—

And saw it.

There was a figure in the grey-black distance. He was obscured by the roiling mists created from the sheer force of rain impacting the ground. That was why he had not picked up on another's presence immediately.

_(or maybe because this entire time, he felt the eyes piercing through the back of his skull)_

A guard. He could tell by the silhouette of the helmet, even if the stance was a little off. He opened his mouth to call out, shoulders relaxing as he thought about how stupid he had been to feel so…

_(frightened?)_

But when he blinked, the figure was already gone.

No, no. That was impossible. He had only taken his eyes off of it for the briefest of seconds. It had probably just moved out of sight. He squinted. The world blurred in and out of focus. He felt the eyes again.

_There's no need to fear, unless you've done something bad. You haven't been bad, have you, pet?_

...then how come it was to his right this time, somehow closer than before yet still maintaining that stiff-legged, awkward posture?

He was being silly, really. Silly. Yes. He knew it was true. He sunk down against the boulder and squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, ghosts and the sort existed. No, they were not allowed to roam as they pleased. The gods ensured that.

The gods would have sent him omens.

Composure found, he breathed out and opened his eyes.

It took him several moments to focus. He

_Hello._

—screamed, because there was a face merely inches away from his own, the painted mouth fixed in a freakish, leering smile. His forehead smacked against its festering, fleshy one, and from such a horrifying closeness, he could see that the eyes were wide with fright, showing the whites, and yet the edges of the smile were sloppy with blood, blood that trickled and washed away in the rain, smiling up to its ears. Dark circles. He saw the teeth. Stained red.

For all intents and purposes, it was dead. Bled out. Yet it was not. It was still coming closer.

There was another smile; a large gash, he assumed, on its neck. There was too much blood for it to be otherwise. It was straight and true, and just barely nicked the jugular. Enough for the body to be drained slowly but still cling to a last few minutes of agonized, hopeless life.

Life? It shuffled forward. Its wrists hung limply at its sides. Dislocated. He could see the bruises. Its head kept flopping to one side. Its arms were bumpy. And at such an up close and personal distance, he could discern the reason for the strange way of standing.

What remained of the feet were bones, hacked off and gleaming a polished white. A trail diffused through the puddles. The legs looked as though they had been ripped off, then shoved roughly back into the joint.

Except backwards. The backs of the knees faced out front, soft and white.

It was walking forward —oh gods— it was trying. The body made a sick, jerking motion as it struggled to compensate for the position of the legs. A little bit like a pigeon, really. A pigeon with that never flinching, never changing smile. Its arms stretched out, wrists dangling limply, swaying bonelessly from side to side with every lurch.

He was frozen. He drew out his _pilum_ and in a single motion, sheathed it in the corpse's neck. Blood, thick red blood spilled over his hands. Perhaps it was a little white.

_Hmn, that wasn't very nice of you, little pet. You would do well not to make me angry._

It fell forward, arms crossing behind him, almost like a hug. The body was heavy. At such a close distance, it knocked the breath right out of him. He fell backwards, the corpse flopping lifelessly on top of him, all semblance of life extinguished. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A cold nose pressed into his neck. Its weight was heavy and cold.

There was Roman armor underneath his fingertips. He could tell because he has a pair in his room, sitting unused, collecting dust in the closet. He never thought that there would arise an occasion in which he would need its flimsy protection. How he longed for it now, even though by instinct he knew it would have done little good except to weigh him down.

He pushed the body off of him. It left a blooming rose against the white of his shirt. He rolled it over. The neck had been completely snapped through. He didn't dare to put his fingers against its neck, for he almost knew by instinct he would feel only a fluttering, mocking imitation of life.

Fingers against bloated eyelids. A quick, muttered prayer. He could see that the corners of its mouth had been drawn down, but the lines gouged into its flesh slit a bright, happy smile onto its face. Bugs crawled out of its mouth. Silver, metallic ones. They fled. He quickly withdrew his hand and wiped it on the ground in disgust.

Three bars across bloated white skin. Two crossed spears.

He pushed the body off of him and began to run. Away, away, away, as a trickle of something dark slipped from the demigod guard's nostril.

He slipped and fell. He shook the water out of his face. Blinked them out of his eyes.

Heard them again. The footsteps. He was sure the other wanted to be found. Otherwise, this storm he had created would swath him in sound and no one would be the wiser until they found the bodies the next morning.

If at all.

_Really, there's no point in running._

Same voice as before. Amused. Emanating from his left. He looked to see only shadow.

"Who's there!" he shouted.

_Are you sure you want to find out?_

Eyes, blacker than night though tinged many, many different colors, opened. Teeth were revealed in a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. It didn't even seem to exist at all. He was like a black hole—any and every feeling seeped out of him, draining away to leave him cold and numb.

"_Hello."_

He froze.

"Who—who are you! By the name of the gods, I command you to leave."

There was a shaking in his voice. His voice never shook. He clenched his hand and steadied himself.

Shadows coalesced. The dark-eyed figure stepped out of the darkness even as the last shadows bound together to form his arms and the tips of his broken, deathlike wings. He cocked his head to the side and bared his teeth in a grin.

Stars burst in the void.

"The gods hold no power over me."

Ridiculous. The gods held divine power. There was nobody…

"You are trespassing in Roman territory. I don't know why Terminus let you through, but you _will _leave."

"Terminus…" Something came to roll by his outstretched hands, bumping gently against his nose. It was made of stone. "...wasn't very nice. So I dealt with him the way that I warned him I would."

There was a weapon. The scythe was silver and materialized out of nothing. It possessed a kind of terrible, wild beauty to the sharpness of its curves. If the being was made out of darkness and shadows, then his weapon was woven from strands of moonlight, and the two fit together in ways that should never have been possible between opposites.

"No hard feelings, you understand," he said pleasantly. "I have nothing against you. The gods, however, are another matter altogether. They took everything away from me. Perhaps you would understand if you truly came to understand who I am and all they have done."

"I am loyal to the Romans. I will not join you."

"I never said you would."

The blade passed from hand to hand. His eyes followed its movements fervently. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"My name is yours to guess," the other said. His wings were like those of skeletal bones, black tatters drifting aimlessly in the wind, matching the darkened colours of his eyes. He could see nothing else of his face.

"A… Titan."

But even as he said it, he knew it to be false. The being knew it too. His smile widened fractionally.

"The Titans? Ah… little Gaea's spawn. I remember when she came up to my knee. It's a pity, really, that it turned out the way it did. I quite liked her."

It was disturbing to hear how casually the name had been spoken. Like a childhood pet. Harmless, pampered. Perhaps, compared to him she was, and _didn't that just bode well _for the gods.

"I… I don't know…"

"Then, boy, I will give you one hint. A repayment of _your_ curse, I suppose."

He didn't want to look. He jerked back, shook his head and tried to tell him to stop, but his face was the color of marble and his lips may have been made of stone. He watched as the other pushed the hood off his head, revealing skin the color of fresh snow, hair darker than the shadows from which he was birthed, and eyes that glowed in the darkness like lamps, an exquisite bone structure that seemed both fragile but ethereally powerful at the same time.

Not like the skull and skeleton he had been expecting. Not even close. He was beautiful, aquiline angles bordering past perfection.

His memory whispered.

"We have... met before."

Lips curved slightly in approval. "Indeed. But perhaps… you may recognize me better in this form."

And then those wings tucked in, blocking his view in a flurry of pale white and black feathers. When they withdrew, he stared into amused green eyes, reflecting the waves of the inexhaustible ocean. Unruly black hair, not nearly as dark, and skin that almost seemed slightly tanned. Not as tall. But the same power lay underneath his skin, bubbling, eagerly writhing and begging to be unleashed. The eyes did nothing but change color. Still, they held that flat, vindictive edge. Somehow flawed, but twisting the impression so that it seemed even more frightening than if it had been whole.

"No…" he whispered through dawning horror. "No!"

Green. Green, like death and destruction and fiery, burning passion.

"Yes…" the other hissed.

"I… stay back—"

"I'm afraid not." The scythe was still there, but as he watched, it changed into a celestial bronze sword. Now, they were the same height, but still he felt so very small in comparison, so weak. "You let me in… You drew me forth, from your imagination. This is what I will become. I'm afraid I cannot let you warn the others." He had a white-lightning smile. "No hard feelings."

He crawled backwards on his hands and knees. The other followed at a leisurely pace.

He wasn't sure where he was trying to escape to. There was no conception of space or distance in this wet, grey world. His hand impacted something soft and squishy and sunk down. He looked back and almost screamed to see the corpse, still lying face down. By now, it had bloated to the size of a small elephant, and was whiter than a dead fish's belly.

He had gone in a circle.

The other traced a single, glowing rune onto his palm, smiled viciously, and stepped backwards.

"Take the knife, boy," the other said. At his hesitance, "you seem to have such a fond tendency to gut stuffed animals. You seem to forget that the rites are meant to be performed with the innards of flesh-and-bone animals and sacrificial humans. So, go on. See what the gods have to say for you. Will they save you?"

He felt sick to his stomach. The smell of blood leaked into the air, noxious fumes more corrosive than any poison.

Too much. This was too much.

_(but the gods are cruel, aren't they? the protogenoi even more so)_

"I can't do this. You can't make me."

He wasn't sure how he still thought of this face as pulchritudinous when he was sure it was going to haunt the days of his nightmares to come.

He shook his head, disappointed, and something inside of Octavian's gut twisted painfully. "Hmm… weak willed. I expected better of Romans. But it matters not, I suppose; either you will be disposed of soon enough or _properly_ trained. Very well—" He felt a slight pang of relief, which was immediately taken away when the other continued without a whit of emotion, "—I will perform the rites, and you will watch."

The scythe-sword was very sharp. It didn't draw blood so much as it sliced through anything like wet tissue paper. It smelled of death; the fetid aroma of necrotized flesh.

Suddenly, the smell of rot was so much more potent than before.

The maggots were whiter than the flesh from which they feasted. As they crawled out, he noticed with a kind of detached, morbid interest that the bulging, bloated appearance of the corpse had now deflated, leaving a sagging shell of skin and half chewed muscle. Oozing black liquid, pulpy to the touch, trickled out of one side.

A fitting representation of a child of war mangled by his own dogs.

Human intestines looked like ropes, except this one was squishy and eaten through, rotting. The other's hands were stained red up to his elbows, caking underneath his fingernails to leave darkened crescents. He did not seem disturbed in the slightest, and went about his task with a fluidity that spoke of practice.

He couldn't watch. Gods… oh

"Don't take your eyes off me."

no please not

"I said—"

Bloody fingers, long and slender but fully capable of breaking all of his bones, pried his eyelid open. His nail dug into his skin, and he hissed as it broke through.

"—pay attention. Do you understand?"

Whimper. He choked as more pressure was applied.

"An answer, please."

"Y-yes… I… _please_."

Then the horrible pressure was gone and so was the hand, and when he clawed at his own eyes with his fingers he felt that the skin was whole and smooth, no signs of the previous abuse showing.

In some ways it was worse. He did not dare to do anything but watch with a horror-stricken gaze, even as his mind began to shut down.

The other did this as though he had done so thousands of times before.

"What do they say?" he asked, holding the length of the thing like an offering, proffered to the frozen Roman, who was taking stumbling steps back. He threw it. It landed at his feet. It coiled itself, splatting open on impact and sending a shower of gore to spray across the off-white of his toga. He could still make out the words, flickering in rivulets of blood, and watched in disbelief as they burst in tiny explosions over the backs of his eyelids with more potency than the teddy bear stuffings had ever given.

"Well?"

He swallowed. "I'm sure you know already. You're just playing with me."

"Very true," the other conceded with a slight brush of his lips. "But I asked you a question and I expect an answer."

_For Rome._

"It is the will of the gods."

There was no surprise. Yes, he must have already known.

"So in the end, you were nothing more than a pawn to them. Then… I suppose that this rock will be your headstone and this child of Mars your eternal companion. It will end where it started."

The last question lingered on the tip of his tongue. It was redundant, but…

"Which one... are you?"

The scythe-sword paused in its pendulum-like motions for the briefest of moments. Even so, there was no escape.

Silver flashed.

"Does it truly matter to you now?" he purred. And suddenly, he was close, oh, so much closer than before, so that he could feel the icy hurt that resounded deep in his heart, as though those _eyes _had cut all the way into him and he was only noticing just now.

"I…" he licked suddenly dry lips, his voice cracking. "I need to know."

Fingers, cold and merciless, took hold of his chin and forced his face to the sky, to meet the burning gaze that he dared not look too long into. At the touch, he felt something burning away beneath his skin, something fragile. He shivered in drunken bliss at the brush of that power, light and teasing, against his own.

Raven brows arched. One side of his mouth slowly stretched upwards, revealing teeth. Sharp, thinner than a snake's venom.

"You _feel _it."

Satisfied. Pleased.

He didn't trust his voice. His head spun pleasurably, a contented buzz rendering him completely and utterly convivial.

"I… I do…" he agreed, feeling a wave of ascendant imperium knock his senses backwards. He almost purred as that touch deepened, the palm spreading out so that the fingers rested against the side of his face, one tapping idly against his temple.

"Good… very good."

The Primordial shifted back into his dominant form, and the amount of power that jumped, like crackles of electricity, onto the demigod's skin made him hiss as his body began to glow, beginning to combust as it became too much.

Then it faded just as quickly as the touch had faded, and the glow about him fizzled to nothing. It was as if someone had robbed the air from his lungs. He staggered backwards, wheezing, a dreadful cold inside of him that screamed for things that were now _missing_.

"You are addicted to power, little cat. Little moth."

He needed it back. _He needed it. _

"There was once someone like you. I remember him well. He was a young king, and he revelled in his power. He could not live without it. So he created... beings, I should say, ones that you would not see in even your own nightmares. But ah, I should not be telling you of such things."

There was a bloody knife. His own. It was being offered to him, hilt-first. "Take it."

He did. It felt tinny in his hand. Heavy.

"There is something I need you to do," said the Primordial, long, slow, judging. "That is, if you want to prove yourself to me."

_He needed it._

"I… need it."

Smile. It pulled at something primal inside of him. A flicker of that aura brushed against him, making him shiver, reaching out to it in longing.

"And you will get it, if you do not disappoint me." As if in promise, those fingers traced his lips, staining them a faded red, which was soon washed into streaks by the lashing rain. A promise. "If you do what I say."

A low, whining keen struggled to rise in his throat, but with the last remnants of his Roman pride, he pushed it down.

Hoarsely, "What do I need to do?"

Approving.

There was a body, then. Another one. Another guard. Only this one was alive, eyes wide and white, struggling in his captor's grip. The Primordial stood still and gaunt, like a manifestation of shadow, like he wasn't all there but it was enough, _it was enough for him because he needed this_.

The knife felt slippery in his grip. He clutched at it tighter. He looked down into the blade, and watched as rain cleared crimson away with harsh flecks of foamy white. His eyes, pale, diminished blue, reflected back, wavering indecisively.

"Kill him," said the other, his voice terrible in an enthralling sort of way. He felt his bones melt, leaving him shaking, a young willow tree, his spine guided by the forces of the Elements, the Primordials.

But a fellow Roman… he held no love for them, but his duty...

"Oh? Are you having second thoughts, pet?"

It was purred. The low, throaty sound sent shivers down his spine.

"No. No, I am not," he said, swallowing down that lump that had suddenly risen in his throat. His mouth tasted metallic and dry. He gripped the _pilum_ tighter, so that his knuckles were white against the bloodless color of his hands.

The guard was thrown between them. Slowly, the Primordial shifted so that he was fully facing the demigod.

"Then go on."

His fingers slowly, reluctantly, wrapped tighter around the handle, and he wasn't sure if there was anything on earth that was heavier.

The guard —son of Venus— pled with him.

"You don't have to do this."

"I must."

"You don't. He's only using you, can't you see?"

All the while, the Primordial watched with that lilting, amused smile on his face, watching the desperate machinations of the fated demigod with all the certainty of a cat and a mouse. He had no doubt that even if he failed in his task, the Primordial would snap both of their necks without blinking an eye.

"_Let me go. Free my chains."_

A thick buzz filled his head, drowning out the hysterics within his thoughts.

_Yes… that was a brilliant idea… why didn't he think of it sooner…? He should release the bonds… he should do it now…_

_HE MUST—_

He reached forward dreamily, then paused as a new voice spoke within his head, sharp and cold and clear.

_I can't let him down._

He drew back, his eyes unfocused. He managed to see the Primordials lips curve briefly in languid approval, and that was enough for him, _that was enough._

The son of Venus' eyes widened. He raised the knife, unearthly light glimmering off the edge of the blade.

_I can't let him down._

He didn't remember the downwards stroke. He heard the screams, though. There were many. Thick, guttural sounds that rang and rang in his ears but never pierced through his skull. Never comprehended, only heard.

_I can't let him down._

Blood, thick and tannic and sour, spilled over his hands and drenched his sleeves, soaking through the front of his toga, staining everything red, red, _red_.

_I can't let him down._

By now, the pleading had fallen to quiet, hysterical sobs. The Roman had curled into a ball, golden hair splattered with blood, the color of dying sunsets.

_I can't let him down._

"Enough, pet."

He wasn't sure when everything had gone silent, and he wasn't sure he would have stopped either, because his brain had long since shut down. But that touch, that cold, witheringly perspicuous touch of the other's hand wrapping around his own wrist, stopping his movements, made him drop the knife.

"Charmspeak does not work on those already within another's grasp," he said, smiling faintly. There was a hint of approvance in his eyes, so the demigod leaned greedily into his touch, like a giant tiger butting its head, waiting to be petted. That dark hum of power coursed once more through his veins, addicting in its own right.

A slow, dark chuckle. Echoing, "Your curiosity will land you in trouble one day, little cat. Just not tonight."

He blinked owlishly. "I have heard that satisfaction… brought it back."

"And in the process, the cat lost one of its nine lives. You only have one life to lose, so you would serve to guard it religiously."

"I… I will."

Something deep in his gut _twisted._

"You've been good. I think… I think I shall give you a gift. Yes…"

Eagerness pulsed through his body. He stared up at the other with wide, eager eyes, entirely unbefitting of his previous demeanor and reputation. Some part of him, some part buried far underneath the lust for this darkness, reared back its head.

_Romans do not act like this._

"You wished for my name. Very well, I will concede. You already know what it is not."

His mind blanked. Green swept across to meet pale blue. He watched as they bled red.

"To you Romans, I am Erebos of the Endless. But you, Octavian, may call me Master."

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>"Some people forget that the Primordials are of the highest order, unfathomably powerful, utterly ruthless, and entirely lacking of a moral code."<p>

**Ansuz  
><strong>Ƒ

_Rune for intelligence, inspiration, delusion._

* * *

><p>Though Reyna enjoyed many of the aspects associated with being a praetor, the one thing she did not enjoy was the paperwork. The one sole redeeming factor it had, however, was that duty forced Jason to suffer alongside her, schadenfreudic as it seemed.<p>

"…the baker wants to open up a new chain outside of New Rome… PR-385 has initiated a lawsuit against—"

"Permanent resident 385? Isn't that Augustus Steyr from the… err…"

Reyna flicked through the papers. "—Fourth Cohort? Yes, it is."

"…mm, the number of lawsuits have been increasing lately. Think it's time we went to see what's wrong?"

One side of Jason's mouth was pulled up into a tight line from the pressure of his cheek resting against his palm. There were dark rings around his eyes. He was slumping forward in a very undignified position. The papers in his hands were currently being pressed to the side of his face.

"Later. For now, I will approve the request."

_Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano _was signed in a scrolling font, elegantly black. She passed the paper to Jason.

"Your turn."

He pulled off the cap.

_Jason Grace Luctor._

"Praetor Luctor!" a voice rang from the open hallway, hesitant. Jason pushed himself up, blinking tiredly at the door. Ink splotched against the curve of his wrist, and when he rubbed his eyes tiredly, it left a streak of grey against his temple.

"Come in."

A legionnaire.

"Praetor Luctor," she said. "Last night, Centurion Octavian has requested your presence at the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus in half hour's time." She bowed, stepped forward, and handed him several documents, which he fumbled with for a moment before holding them securely to his chest.

"Thank you, legionnaire." Under his breath, he muttered in a low voice that no one else was supposed to have heard but everyone did, "The bastard probably didn't tell me sooner just to watch me scramble."

The legionnaire looked away, one corner of her mouth struggling to remain flat. Giving it up as a lost cause, she gave him another short, stiff bow, and then left the way she came.

"Well..." Jason grunted. "I guess I better..."

Before he could get more than a few inches up, Reyna extracted the paper from his grip and pushed his head down to the table. His forehead impacted wood with a loud thud. He winced.

"Agh, Reyna!" He flailed his arms in a half-hearted attempt to free himself.

"You need to stop overworking yourself. You look tired."

"I _am_ tired."

"Then go to sleep. Being in such a state does not help matters any. Octavian can wait."

But if there was one thing Jason had inherited from Jupiter, it was that stubborn streak a mile wide.

"I'm not going to leave you here to do all the work yourself," he protested—even though it looked like one good breeze would shove him over. "We can all rest once we're through."

Reyna sighed, folding up her papers. Outside, the sun was shaded by a layer of clouds, allowing little to no light to pass through.

"If it's Octavian's impending ire troubling you—"

A light cough.

"—_then I'll let you know_ that he's probably preoccupied with his augury work. Something about receiving omens from the gods. How he gets all of his information from teddy bear guts, I'll never know."

Reyna's jaw clicked shut with the sudden force at which she shut it. Her head whipped around, eyes flashing dangerously. The voice was unwelcomingly familiar, and oh so very arrogant.

"How did you get in here?" she snapped. Green lights tilted to one side.

"A little birdie showed me the way."

_"Jackson."_

She was sure he was grinning.

"In the flesh."

"What do you _want_?"

Percy stepped out of the shadow cast by the ajar door. Light from lit torches cast a soft triangle of light onto the ground, hinting at thin crevasses in the wood where thousands of footsteps had worn it down.

They hadn't heard him approach. In the darkness, Percy's eyes glowed eerily. He almost seemed to be smiling. It stretched hauntingly upon his face, merely a blur of bluebell shadows.

"I figured you wouldn't appreciate it if I made a scene at breakfast, so here I am now."

As impressive as Roman buildings were, they were complex enough not to be open to the sky, and with their innate power interfering with technology, fire illumination was one of the safest methods open to their use.

Lack of sleep had not improved her manners any—not that there was much reserved for him on the best of days, either. "How did you find us?" she snapped.

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Your corridors might be sophisticated looking to you Romans, but I assure you, they have absolutely _nothing_ on the Labyrinth—which, I might add, was built by a Greek. Wooden horses were not the only thing we were known for."

"No. Most Greeks are known for their lack of protocol and sheer stupidity."

Percy leaned back on his heels, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and gave her an insolent grin. He was dwarfed by the sheer height and size of the Senate building, but seemed completely and utterly at ease, even as the kaleidoscopic ceiling threw thin fragments of light across his usually obscured countenance.

"I'm not defending the Greeks. I have no reason to. However, if I were, I would tell you that an army without protocol and skill would never have been able to bring down the Titan pantheon."

Her pride flared.

"The Romans—"

"—took down a bunch of dracaenae and _one_ Titan, and yet you have the audacity to boast about your accomplishments."

A very wise man once said "count to ten before speaking. If very angry, count to one hundred." Whoever he was, he had obviously never met Perseus -_fucking_- Jackson. One hundred wasn't nearly enough.

Reyna closed her eyes and strongly resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "What do you want, Jackson," she repeated again, her voice more tired than before. "If it is just to flaunt your heritage, then I kindly suggest you get out right now."

"What _I_ want…" He tapped one finger against his temple. "You of all people should know what I want."

She made the mistake of eye contact and just as suddenly there were voices in her head again.

_"—run. The pirates are coming for us. Damn it, don't just stand there! Run! I'll try and buy you time."_

_"Hylla, I can't leave you!"_

His eyes were too knowing for her comfort. Omnipotent. Like somehow she was transparent and he could see inside the very workings of her. She swallowed and looked away.

"Your potentially suicidal escapades have not eluded my notice."

_"What, don't you believe in your big sister? Don't worry. I can handle myself. Just... promise me. Promise me that one day we'll get revenge on him—Perseus Jackson. We'll burn down everything he holds dear and show him what it is truly like to be alone in this world and in the next."_

_"Hylla..."_

"Aw, I'm hurt. Don't you believe in me?"

_"Hey, no tears. You need to be strong, Rey. This is for all of us. Promise me. Daughters of Bellona don't go back on their word."_

_"I..."_

She moved a stack of papers she had been reading into a third pile, and began to work on yet another, blatantly giving him little of her attention. She ignored the chill that ran down her back—almost like a second meaning had been applied to those words, one that she refused to think about.

"Spare me the theatrics."

"What I want is to get some sleep, some blue cookies, and for the gods to leave me the hell alone. Unfortunately, that's never going to happen, and that's beside the point. What I _need_ now is to talk to you, Reyna."

Her pen went through the page.

_"I... do. I promise you."_

It left a large ink blotch on the parchment, and cursing under her breath, she did her best to wipe it away. It left several black marks across her hands and wrists. Needless to say, it didn't improve her mood in the slightest.

"No one is stopping you."

He took a look around, and amended, "Alone."

"Whatever else you have to say to me, you can say it in front of Jason. We are both praetors."

Percy didn't look pleased. Jason eyed him warily, his grogginess from lack of sleep absent from his posture and expression.

"Very well. As I suppose it concerns both of you, and all of the camp. That sickness that's going around—Apollo—"

"_Lord_ Apollo."

"—_Apollo_," he emphasized with his usual audacity, "delivered a cure late last night. I have it here."

Surprised at both his sudden acquiescence and the content of the message, Reyna fell silent.

"The Sickness was caused by poisoning from the Ordiian dimension. It should dissipate on its own," said Jason. His eyes alighted to the small bundle of medicine tucked beneath Percy's arm. "Are you sure about this?"

"Quite. No one has a smile like Apollo's. I assure you, it was him."

Scoff. Reyna sneered. "It's not the gods I do not trust."

"…you can't go one day without making some kind of insinuation that I'm a traitor."

Her eyes flashed.

_(aren't you? haven't you done enough?)_

"_Graceus…"_

"—I know, I know," Percy interrupted dryly. "Filthy Greeks and their stupid little wooden horses. I've heard that one so many times. You'd think after thousands of years, the Romans would know how to let go of a grudge. It gets old quickly."

"As does your presence, so I will ask you to kindly return to the hellhole from which you were spawned. You understand, I'm sure, or is the pea you call your brain too woefully inadequate to understand so simple a statement?"

It was a dismissal if there ever was one, but Percy merely regarded her with false ignorance. He did not take offense. Instead, he crooked a smile.

"Do whatever you want," he said. "Burn them, throw them out—hell, I really don't care. But if the gods get pissed for disobeying their orders, it'll be on your head. I don't claim to know what the gods do. I'm just delivering a message. Look, why don't you ask Terminus if you don't believe me."

Reyna cast him another look. She flicked her hand behind her back. Immediately, one of the legionnaires came forward, bowing deep at the waist.

"Praetor Ramirez-Arellano?"

"Please inform Terminus that I will be requesting his presence shortly. I shall meet him at the edge of the borders to confirm Jackson's story."

The legionnaire dipped his head in assent. Thin shards of light reflected in jagged lines across the gold of his helmet.

"Of course."

He left.

"You will remain with Jason until my return." It was a demand. Percy tore his eyes off the back of the departed legionnaire, sketched an amused bow, his movements somehow gracefully mocking her in return.

"As you wish."

Sparing him a last ill-tempered glance, she snapped her fingers. Aurum and Argentum snapped to attention from shut-down mode, their metallic tails wagging, tongues lolling out of their mouths. She stepped down from the dais where the thrones were placed, her long purple toga fisted in her hands to keep it away from her feet. The inconsistent patters of her dogs' steps trailed after her like an obedient shadow.

She brushed past Percy without a word, leaving Jason in her wake.

And then it was just the two of them, in a room that seemed far too big and a silence too vast to cross.

One.

Two.

Three.

"So..." Jason said, rather awkwardly, and cleared his throat, "we haven't been properly introduced. Jason Luctor, son of Jupiter, praetor of the Twelfth Legion."

_"_Luctor. _'Champion?'_ I doubt that is your true surname."

Jason's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Aa, I see you know your Latin well. Yes, that is true, but it is as good as any. It was a name given to me by the gods, by Lupa, after I..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, though he was careful not to let it show on his face. "I received it very long ago, and it has been a long time since I've been known otherwise."

Interesting. But he could tell from the slightly dilated pupils and faster than normal heartbeat that he was hiding something,

"Then if I may ask, what were you known as before? Consider it idle curiosity."

Jason forced a smile. It looked pale and strained on his face. "Some things are better to remain curiosities and nothing more."

"I see. I apologize if you were made uncomfortable."

"Nonsense! Such matters aside. How are you finding Camp Jupiter? It's always been my home, after I was brought here by the gods."

"Different. A little disorientating, to be sure."

"Compared to the Underworld?"

"...oh?"

"Ah, yes. Perhaps I ought to warn you—the rumor mill here travels fast."

"Then I suppose some things never really change."

There was a glimmer of humor in Jason's face, softening the cold eyes and sharp angles ever so slightly. He gave him a long, slow look from beneath his eyebrows. A look of supposed calculation. Calculation, as if he could actually use _Percy._ As if he was _tame_ and was not something volatile, something against the forces of Nature that was conceived to represent an entire domain that stretched throughout all of the dimensions.

Ought he be pleased that his deception was working as it should, or irritated at this demigod's mindset? Jason, praetor or not, was lucky that he had met Percy and not one like Ophion, the latter of which was not particularly known for a keen sense of self control.

His thoughts were broken by a loud bang. Jason's head came up.

"What was that?"

Percy turned his head to the side. "Someone is fast approaching, with something heavy."

A faint, muffled thud. "_Pr—tor!"_

The sound of a brief scuffle, then silence. Jason looked and started to get up. Percy raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained impassive.

A rush of footsteps.

"Praetor!"

The door hit the adjacent wall so hard the knob went through the plaster and stuck there. A half blood was silhouetted against the darkness of the hall, bloodshot eyes feral, a wildness to him that was often concealed under the facade of drunken bemusement. He was very tall, about as tall as Percy was in this form, and had ringlets of curly black hair. The redness upon his lips was thicker and darker than the red Kool-Aid that he drank, leaving a long trail that curved over his chin and dribbled below the collar of his purple t-shirt.

"_Praetor_!" he repeated in a wild, livid rage.

A demigod was dragged in behind him, leaving a path of something dark on polished floors. Platinum blonde hair fell into dark-rimmed eyes, and his breathing was harsh, with crimson spattering all across him, over his fingers, over everything.

Jason leaped to his feet with a yell of surprise. "What happened here, Dakota?" he said sharply, watching the slow drip of blood splattering across the floor, drawing down the outstretched hand, twining across the thin, birdlike wrist, coalescing at the elbow, and falling the short distance before impact.

The captive's long, thin fingers dug sporadically at the ground, pawing at it for seemingly no reason. Odd little sounds forced their way out of his mouth, like he was choking and laughing at the same time.

"He's crazy." Dakota shook his head, dark curls plastered to his forehead. He was breathing heavily. There was a shallow scrape along the palm of one of his hands. "Crazy, Jace. I'd know. I was searching for the missing Romans. He just came outta nowhere and tried to attack me. Somehow got his hands on a knife, the nasty little bugger."

"I… see. Thank you, Dakota. I shall handle it from here. Please alert the guards."

The son of Bacchus hesitated. "You sure? He's got a vicious bite."

A hint of wry amusement edged Jason's face, and he said, "Don't worry. Reyna's coming back soon, and I've got Jackson as backup for the meantime."

As his backup—! _Hah_! Like he could ever get _Percy _to—

_Calm_, he hissed to himself.

Dakota sent him a look of distrust, sizing him up threateningly. Percy returned his glare in exasperation, and a little bit of something feral must have transmitted through the silent thunder between them, must not have been as suppressed as he had thought it to be, because the Roman broke their eye contact, an unconscious shiver making its way through his body.

_Dangerous,_ his instincts whispered, because Percy was smiling at him, the kind of smile that made him think of cold battlefields and broken, silver knives. _Run, run away, little child._

"Dunno if this runt's got it to help ya any, Jace. But whatever. 'S your neck, not mine."

_He'll stab you in the heart before you can blink and he won't miss._

"Thank you for those wise words of wisdom, but I will be fine. Right, Perce?" Percy grunted and fingered the edge of his sword. Jason turned back to the other with a sunny smile, not perturbed in the slightest. "See? Nothing to worry about."

"Um, okay."

He left. The door was left gaping open behind him.

Percy turned his attention to the figure on the ground, the one dragged in and left out like a bag of trash.

The defeated Roman was still twitching where he had been thrown, lying in a slowly accumulating pool of blood. His clothes may have been other colors before —he thought he could make out a faint, drowning speck of green within the mottled crimson— but now they were the dried brown of blood. His fingers still opened and closed slowly, as if it was against his will, and the peculiar thing was that he kept wrapping his hand in a roughly cylindrical position, like he was grasping the hilt of a knife.

The thud of Jason's boots against the floors was the only sound in the vast chamber. His purple cloak hung off his shoulders, the dark blue within his eyes reflecting a hint of indigo, and a tinge of something darker, more inexorable—something _familiar_.

Percy squinted. His left eye began to hurt. A stabbing pain.

_("a gift," Death said)_

The world shifted and _blurred_ until everything was black and white and so, so clear. Death's Blessing; Death's Sight.

The world slowed. Afterimages spun, silky white, in his peripheral vision.

He tried to focus on the demigod, but something that hurt pierced through his skull and he had to bite his lip and look away before his brain became mush that oozed out of his ears. He shut his eyes and turned instead to Jason.

There was something clinging to Jason's shoulders, whispering in his ear, leaving a lingering, tantalizing touch. Ghosts, dead, festering things reflected in the glassiness of his eyes, outlined with darkness and chains and cold white fire. Long, silhouetted fingers, portrayals of greed, beckoning captivated victims closer.

"Well, _Octavian_?" he demanded, staring down imperiously at the pathetic bundle beneath him. A second mouth moved with his own. His jaw was clenched, countenance hard. Every movement was blurred, and Percy could see afterimages that glowed a faint white, as if time had yet to catch up.

_Octavian._

There was a coin in Jason's hand. The flickering image of a gladius was superimposed across the object.

The connection stretched out thin, then snapped, the backlash —images, images of a little boy and a big wolf and a towering, imposing goddess— made Percy wince minutely. A slow, wet trickling started at his left eye and began its way down. He smeared it with the back of his hand, turning his cheek a misty red.

"You will answer me," Jason said harshly. He forced Octavian's face upwards. Briefly, pale irises came up to meet his, then dropped back down, his shoulders hunching in in disappointment. He turned his face away, all interest lost, and muttered—

"You're not him."

"Not _who_?"

"Him."

"Who is he?"

"_Him."_

He was beginning to get agitated. Dryly, Percy noted that he still had not been discovered, even though he was standing only a few paces to Jason's left and therefore only slightly out of Octavian's peripheral vision.

"I'm afraid you will have to tell me a name."

"I can't let him down."

Jason's face grew very still. "It is a Greek." Unconsciously, his gaze strayed to Percy, whose face remained immovably blank.

The augur twitched. There was a bright, bright light that was erupting spasmodically from inside him that was almost painful to watch. His eyes glowed an effulgent cambridge blue that bordered on _green_, the color of Percy's own.

"I can't let him down."

There was a fervent tone in his voice, colouring it darkly black. Pathetic, really. On Ordis, Percy had deemed him a curious and rather interesting demigod. Now, he had been reduced to a blubbering, deranged husk.

He would not watch any longer.

"I believe he has a fever, Luctor," Percy interjected smoothly. Jason jumped when he realized that Percy was still behind him, but contained it relatively well, and balled his hands into the soft folds of his purple cloak. Octavian twitched and almost fell over, hair falling forward to shield his face. "He appears to be flushed."

Octavian's head whipped to the side and his eyes met Percy's own through the parting of his hair, fever-bright. "I know you," he breathed.

Percy smiled a careful, neutral smile. "Octavian, correct?"

A purr of contentment rose in his throat. His body relaxed, his palms opening to support him as his center of balance shifted forward. "You know my name…"

"You know each other?" Jason interrupted, his gaze skirting between the two of them, shoulders rigid, posture locked.

"By the amount of times you were cursing his name, it would be a miracle if I did not."

"That still doesn't explain why he knows you, or why he's acting so…" the son of Jupiter gestured helplessly at the augur, eyeing him with a bit of bemused aversion, "...weird."

"I take it this isn't normal behavior for him, then?"

Jason snorted. "Normal behavior? Right. He may be a little creeper and sticks his nose into peoples' businesses way too much, but he doesn't… I mean, _look _at him. He looks like he's getting an orgasm from your voice."

Percy looked highly disturbed by the thought.

"I should certainly hope not."

Which was ruined when Octavian let out a particularly breathy moan. Percy turned one foot in a half circle and ran his thumb over his bottom lip and looked away, his cheeks flushed. Jason suppressed a smirk, disguising his laugh as a bad cough.

"But you know, it's really weird. I never thought he'd get an… err, thing, for a Greek, and for the longest time, I was convinced he was asexual. I still sort of am, actually, even though..."

"There's more types of attraction than you would think," Percy said slowly. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and his eyes were veiled but flinty; sharpened steel knives. "I believe you are mistaken in your assumptions."

Jason snorted and said only, "Right," but his incredulity was present in his tone of voice.

"_Dominus…"_

It was Octavian.

Percy's head whipped to the side. All expression was thusly wiped from his face, and his eyes narrowed at the demigod prostrated before him with calm suspicion.

"Sorry, come again?"

The words rolled off his tongue, uncomfortably foreign. But the staggered hesitancy of the words was not out of a lack of confidence but out of a lack of practice.

"_Infinitus, ilya ul vivat un tai..."_

_Endless, I live to serve._

"Is he speaking Latin?" Percy said to Jason, feigning obliviousness, even as his thoughts turned a thousand and one times per second. The other shook his head, baffled.

"No, he's not. I've never heard of that language before, though."

"Hmn. It's not Greek. Unless he's somehow developed the habit of learning languages spontaneously, you should probably bring him to the healers before that fever fries his brain."

Jason gave him a knowing grin. Percy twitched, and forced himself to look away in mortification, even as the part of him that was Erebus sneered at the son of Jupiter's carnality, especially at his high ranking position. Bah! As if he would be embarrassed about a little boy's hero-crush—which he suspected ran deeper than the demigod would have him know.

"Yeah. I'll get to that. Dakota, get in here, I know you're listening. Do you want him to show you out?"

Even as some color drained out of Dakota's face, Percy had already interjected smoothly, "No need. I can see myself out. _Vale._"

He inclined his head ever so slightly, then turned to go, only to come face-to-face with a pair of startled blue eyes. Taking a step around his gaping form, he disappeared into the corridors and closed the door behind him. When he was out of sight, Jason turned to Dakota, all exasperated smiles and warmth.

"Dakota!" he greeted. "Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Err..." He was still staring at the closed door. Jumping at his inquiry, he flushed a bit, though it was barely distinguishable on his face. "Yeah. You need a hand?"

Jason's eyes drifted to the place Percy once stood.

"That would be great. Thanks, Dakota."

Octavian, however, had other plans. As soon as Percy slipped out of the door, he immediately got up and made to follow. He reeled drunkenly as the blood suddenly rushed to his head, then regained his balance, although it was lacking in its usual fluidity.

Dakota put both hands on his chest and pushed him down roughly. He hit the ground but didn't seem to realize the pain.

"Oh, no you don't. You're coming with me."

He slung the augur over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Octavian hissed in anger.

"Put me down, you cur! Leave me be!"

"Hmm… there's the Octavian we all know and love."

"That last part is debatable. You sure there's something wrong with him? Looks as crazy as he normally is to me."

"Better be safe than sorry, I guess. I'd rather not him have another episode."

"Are you sure that it's something wrong with _him_," he shook the demigod on his shoulder roughly, making his teeth clatter together and a spew of Latin curses to be directed at him, "and not something that Greek is doing?"

"I wouldn't rule that out quite yet, either. But come on, let's go before Reyna comes back and haves my head."

* * *

><p>Reyna saw Percy before he saw her. He was in the shade of a large oak tree, head tilted back, letting the sporadic shadows of the swaying leaves overhead cast dotting adumbrations across his countenance. His eyes were closed, and he gave no indication that he heard her approach. He felt the displacement of air as she knelt next to him, felt the intensity of her gaze.<p>

"Jackson." Something strange was in her tone. "You're bleeding."

It took him a while to reply. Slowly, his head shifted its position, turning to her.

"…wouldn't be the first time."

_"Jackson._ Your eye is _bleeding_. Are you… alright?_"_

It took several moments for his vision to adjust from the darkness. There was a thin film of red across the colors of the environment. Reyna's face —slightly worried, although she would never admit it— hovered uncertainly above him, one hand on her gladius' hilt.

He touched his fingers to his cheeks and it came away crimson. He wiped it away.

"It's fine. This has happened before."

Death's Sight came at a price, after all.

"What did you do?"

Percy grimaced, then stood up. He brushed the dirt off his clothes, feeling the grit against his palms.

"Let's just say that immortals have a wicked sense of humor and leave it at that before it gets complicated."

To her, he sounded oddly subdued. She was a little surprised at the change in his face, and his eyes were fixed on the ground, though it was admittedly more in perplexion than in any form of shyness. He was about to turn away and go when Reyna stopped him again, this time with a tinge of exasperation in her voice.

"It would not look good if I returned you to your fellow Greeks with you looking as though you just walked out of a massacre."

It was an exaggeration, really. Aside from the dark circles beneath his eyes and the slight reddening of the left side of his face from where he had tried unsuccessfully to wipe it off, he looked no different than usual.

"I'll be fine."

"_Jackson._"

He stopped. He turned around. There was a brief flash of some indistinguishable color within his irises, before it faded back to a dull green, the color of murky waters entangled with seaweed. He gave her a strained smile. It didn't reach the rest of his face.

"Yes?"

Her voice almost seemed softer than before, and there was less mistrust radiated so eminently into the air, though it was most definitely still there. "I couldn't find Terminus, but I did see Lord Mercury and he did confirm it for me."

"Hermes, hm? I still don't know why he couldn't deliver it himself, but who are we to question the gods?"

A slight edge of cynicism entered the tilt of her head. "Indeed. They have been out of contact for months. He seemed very... distant, and a little disoriented."

"That's not all he told you, isn't it? He must have told you that we need to get along."

She made a little, incredulous sound that might have been agreement but also could have passed as disgust. Seeing her expression, he gave an almost-shrug of his shoulders in response, and said, "Last time we met, you looked like you'd rather rip my head off. That still hasn't changed, but you're acting almost civil now."

"You haven't been particularly helpful there."

"Hey, I didn't ask for this either. Whatever problem you have with me, could you just tell me already or something? I hate guessing and I'm awful at it."

Reyna closed her eyes as if she had a pounding migraine, inhaled deeply, and pursed her lips in a last attempt to keep her calm.

"Look. We have to work together until this issue is solved, so the faster we can figure out how to lessen Gaea's influence the faster we can get out of each other's company."

An unspoken truce. Percy didn't care one way or another, but he had to keep up appearances. Reyna considered it for a few seconds.

"Okay."

She took his hand with thinly veiled revulsion, and barely closed her fingers around his before snatching it away as though she had just touched a hot stove.

"Fine. However, in the future, I do not appreciate you disobeying my orders. I told you to remain in the throne room. Jason was supposed to keep an eye on you."

He flashed her a charming, crooked smile that would no doubt make some of the lesser Romans go weak at the knees. She stared back, unimpressed.

"You did," he said with a grin, his previous demeanor disappearing in the blink of an eye. "But whether or not I followed it was up for interpretation."

Reyna scowled at him. She reached out and slapped the back of his head with lightning fast movements. Percy stumbled backwards with a yelp of surprise.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

_"Stulte. _Lunch is in an hour. Get yourself cleaned up. I don't want to have to deal with you more than I have to."

Leaving him to stare at her back in bemusement as she walked back into the Senate building, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Percy thought she was probably going to bleach her hand as soon as she got out of his company.

When she was safely out of sight, Percy's eyes narrowed, and all sense of amicability dropped from his face. He drummed his fingers against his knee in thought, then stood up, using the tree as support.

It surprised him, sometimes, how nonchalant the camp seemed even in a warzone, even as war waged itself under their very noses.

Gaea would attack soon, but her spy may have sent her more news. He was yet unsure about the latter's identity. Really, it could be almost anyone in the camp. Some stood out more than others. Normally, Percy would just skim the thoughts from the surface of their subconscious, but he was inexperienced and thus the forcible transfer of information would drive the victim insane. Nyx was better than he, to be sure, but _Thalia_ wasn't.

And even then, there were complications...

Octavian could speak Ordiian. Unless he was put to the task of testing his reactions, there was no way a mere half blood could speak the language. The gods couldn't, and it was certainly not from a lack of trying. No, there was something innate about the dialect that accepted some and refused others. As if it had its own brand of sentience, perhaps.

Perhaps it had been implanted into him?

"Erm… Jackson?"

Hazel Levesque. He remembered her—although from his current height, she seemed taller than before, and more down-to-earth. He straightened and fixed his expression into one that was probably polite.

"Centurion Levesque."

She shifted slightly in embarrassment. "Just Hazel is fine."

"Then call me Percy. Is there's something I can help you with, Hazel?"

"I just wanted to thank you. For saving us, I mean."

"Nah, it's cool. I'd do it again. How's your friend?"

"He's okay. He's still in the Infirmary, though. They're trying to study the effect of Gorgon's blood on his body."

He shared with her a slight moment of amusement. "They won't find anything. The blood dissolves upon contact. Trust me on that one."

She turned to him with interest. "Yes," she said, "you said you encountered Medusa?"

"Ah, yes. A long time ago. It almost seems like a lifetime has passed since then."

They lapsed into a brief silence. Percy's hands were in his pockets and he was staring at the borders of the camp, watching as the small white speck that was Terminus bustled around with the little girl at his heels.

Finally, Hazel said, "Um, do you want a tour of the camp?"

"Reyna's already given me one, though thank you nevertheless."

"Oh. Oh, of course. If you'll excuse me, I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Ja—Percy."

She practically fled. Percy heard her go but didn't take his eyes off of Terminus. There was a strange look on his face. He could feel something... off about the statue. It wasn't something he could describe, but it was the difference between a hologram and an actual being.

When he blinked Terminus was gone. The little girl was dozing underneath a tree. Her head was propped carefully on her knees. She didn't seem to realize that she was sitting in a puddle.

_Children_.

The relative earthiness of the forest was a contrast to the smell of stale fields, of grasses cooked in the sun until they turned harsh and dry, their golden-yellow stalks rigid. He brushed through the trees, leaving the sounds of the Camp behind.

On his way into their makeshift clearing, he stepped over Nico, who was sprawled snoring over the entrance. Thalia was poking the fire, but the motion was more mechanical than intentional.

"_Maneia_, Nyx." He crouched down next to her. She looked to him after several long seconds and smiled distractedly.

"_Manete,_ Erebus. How do you fare?"

"As usual. There are no signs of Gaea's presence yet, though I have the feeling it's only because I haven't looked in the right places rather than its actual absence."

"I'm not quite worried about her. I remember that even when we were all children, she had trouble beating any of us in a straight fight."

"Since when does she fight fair?"

"Since when has _any_ of us fought fair?"

"Aether still does. Most of the time. I can't say the same for the rest of us."

"He's too stubborn for his own good."

"Ah... and who is talking now, Nyx?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I never denied it, you hypocrite."

They lapsed into silence.

"Where were you last night, Erebus?"

To any others, he may have looked the same as before, but Thalia could tell that the sharpness of his face and the deeper shadows that clung to him as a product of unrest and fatigue. Visibly, he straightened and fixed her with a look.

"I went for a walk. When I returned, the two of you were already resting, so I did not wake you. Why?"

She turned away, poking the fire with a long stick, a pensive expression briefly taking hold. "It's nothing," she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow but did not pry.

"Was there something you needed, Nyx?"

"...hmm? Oh, no. Have you given the medicine to the Romans?"

"Yes. They put up quite an unnecessary fuss. They seemed firmly of the belief that I would try and poison them. As if I could not have them killed if I so wished without such trickery."

She grinned at him in wry amusement. "They think you're Perseus, 'Res. They would be wise to trust neither of you."

"You would me with your accusations." A hand over his heart. He scrunched up his expression. "But such matters aside. The Romans are not worth such the dwelling of mind. How do you fare?"

"Terra is… different, to be sure. But we are fine. You needn't worry so much."

"...I don't worry. I was merely asking."

Thalia rolled her eyes fondly, and said, "You're a great big teddy bear, you know that?"

He looked about as unimpressed as ever, even though there was a slight twitch of his lips that almost went unnoticed. "And you have not stopped in picking up Aether's fondness for Terran colloquialisms."

"Hah! Aether's fond of everything, especially if it's food to line his stomach."

"There isn't enough sustenance in this dimension to do that. He's just going to have to go without."

"Don't let him hear that. He'll pitch a fit, most likely." Softer, that mischievous light in her eyes dying, she murmured to him, "Do you think he will be alright?"

Erebus crouched down next to her. His eyes strayed to Aether's sleeping form, before flickering back to meet Thalia's.

"I don't think you give him enough credit, Nyx. He is stronger than he appears."

"I know. I just… I worry."

"And who's the one _worrying _now?"

She punched him. "Oh, _do _shut up." But the mood was broken and she felt a small, tired smile curve upwards at her lips, so she supposed that that was his intention all along.

The sun broke through wet, grey clouds.

Yesterday, it had been raining. She had heard the storm as it had roiled past, but their shelter kept them adequately dry even as the fire had been snuffed out to wisps of translucent steam.

It had been one of those wild, summer ones, where the lightning lit up the sky and the thunder made the trees shake, where the wind screamed around the corners, gusts of white buffeting anything it could touch. The rain had picked up, so that it was just a grey sheet that crashed and ripped leaves off branches instead of individual drops that bellowed over the earth.

And just as soon as it had started, it was over. Disappeared, swallowed up by the skies, leaving only swollen rivers in its wake. The chaos was tucked neatly away.

Erebus had come back soon after that, she thought. But she wasn't sure. He was only a smudge, a trace, of darkness in the sleeting rain, and even without its cover he moved like a ghost. Which was fitting, she supposed, because the day he could stop sneaking up on her was the day when she will be truly worried.

"What are you thinking of, Nyx?"

"The storm."

"Aa, it was quite a sight, wasn't it?"

It was. She watched as branches were ripped from the trunks on which they grew, exposing fragmenting slivers of grey from between the cracks of the roughened bark. Like skeletons, they stood without leaves, solemnly heralding a bleak, overcast morning sky.

"Aye. I feel pity for those who were out last night."

Erebus hummed a nonsensical, distracted note of agreement.

"I thought I could sense —something— in the storm. It wasn't natural in any way. It was there for a... purpose."

Thalia pressed her lips together. "Aren't you good at reading residual signatures?" It came out more accusatory than she had meant for it to.

"Supposedly," he agreed. "But it had felt more..." He stopped himself and shook his head. "I was mistaken. Mine was the only one there."

Thalia stood up and stretched out her muscles, allowing circulation to move into her legs after spending such a long time crouching. This blank moping was going to get her nowhere.

"Would you mind if we had a walk? I think there's something we're missing."

"Not at all. Lead the way."

They stopped at the entrance. Nico was mumbling in his sleep. They stepped over him.

"Do you remember which way you went?"

Erebus stared at the trees. "I think... left. My memory of the night is rather fuzzy, and the rain obscured most of my view."

Thalia spared him a glance. He didn't seem to be lying. There was genuine puzzlement there, as though he couldn't figure out why he didn't realize sooner. It seemed not to have occurred to him.

But then again he was a master of deception and there were times where she couldn't decide if she should trust him at all.

"Okay. Left, then."

They walked in silence. Occasionally, Erebus would lead and they would turn into yet a smaller path, but otherwise the only sounds were the rustling of the leaves and the quiet chirping of the birds.

"You can see the temple of Jupiter-Optimus-whatever from here," she said. If she stood on her toes, she could peek through a crack between the thick, weaving branches, which allowed her a pinpricked image of the gleaming white temple. Erebus followed her example, ducked, and squinted, blinking several times when the image seemed not to focus correctly.

"Indeed... I did not see that."

"You're losing your touch," she ribbed, jabbing her elbow into his side. He made a face at her. "Big bad assassin can't even see the giant building. Seriously, there's no way you can miss it. It's so ostentatious it hurts."

"No way you can miss it," he echoed. "I think I went towards the temple then."

The teasing smile dropped from Thalia's face. "Are you okay, Erebus? I mean it."

"...yes. I guess I was too disoriented last night. You don't need to worry about it happening again."

Still, she worried, even if she wouldn't say it to his face. Their outlook point was situated on the crest of a hill. The way down was craggy, and there should have been no way anyone could come down by foot. She could see the borders from here. Terminus was oddly missing. The little girl was sleeping by the tree.

"Wait," Erebus said suddenly, throwing out a hand to stop her.

There was a boulder. Grey flecked granite stone, it shone dully in the refracting sunlight. It was large, fat, and its surface was peppered with tiny holes, like pumice stone. Erebus circled it a few times, inspecting for something that Thalia couldn't see, then knocked two fingers against it, listening intently. He changed angles. His face grew puzzled.

"What is it?"

"It's... hollow."

He put his hand on the very top. He had to stand on his toes. The rock, when taken into perspective, looked rather like a fat grey egg.

"Enlighten, _Ansuz_," he whispered quietly. When activated, the rune glowed a deep ochre, then sank into the stone. "Step back, Nyx."

A fissure began where the rune had once been inscribed, cracking through the stone in rough jerks that reminded Thalia of an egg struggling to hatch. In the beginning nothing fell but bits of stone. But once it broke a quarter of the way, dark liquid began to wet the falling chunks, coating them a sticky black that reeked of death and offal. Thalia covered her nose. Erebus looked on grimly.

The further down the stone split, the heavier and darker the flow became, until it was spilling out around their feet in a thick, gobby soup. It pooled around the dent left in the ground by the stone's weight, seeping into the earth, then flooded outwards.

When the two pieces of the stone-egg crashed to the ground, split into two at last, the two mangled bodies were revealed.

It was difficult to tell what they were until Thalia walked closer. Both were bloated, fat and white, streaked with black that slowly bled off their skin and pooled in the little pits on the rock.

"One of the Romans did say something about missing demigods," Erebus said, and his voice did not shake in the slightest. She would have been worried if it did.

It seemed inconceivable that such an amount of decay could happen in such a short time. One of the corpses was so rotten that the flesh was beginning to fall off the bones. The other was little better.

One was covered in stab wounds and the other seemed victim to a puppeteer's hand. The latter had a distinctive cut on its neck. Erebus moved his finger across the slit, and stared at it intently as though they were lips and were telling him all the secrets of the body.

"_Fiaent ov ex aros_," he said dryly, one eye peeking from the side to regard her expression. "Do you remember that story, Nyx?"

"The monsters that rose from the egg. Yes, I do."

"_Vera esset effalai syfarcion ex teras itan isos_," he quoted. "'_And perhaps the true monster that was formed was the creator itself.'_ Someone has a particular sense of humor. And a particular taste."

"Yes, yes. But now we need to know who the _creator_ is."

"If I recall correctly, it was the king. And he was a brilliant manipulator."

She rolled her eyes. "Erebus."

"At least he had the decency to hide the bodies. But I will have to move them. The Romans will accuse us, and I have no wish to deal with their incessant babbling any more than I must."

"Then where will you put them?"

He winked at her. "You will find out by lunch. I will dispose of them. Go back, get Aether, and go to lunch. Just for the sake of keeping appearances." Sobering slightly, he said, softer, "It will be alright, Nyx."

Thalia tried for a smile.

"I know."

"Perhaps... yes. Wait a moment."

From the shadows he drew off a wisp. She watched as he worked, long fingers shaping it into a roughly humanoid form, then beginning to mold the limbs. First the legs, then the torso, the arms, and finally the head. Colors were introduced; flesh tones, warm colors, cold tints. He drew something quickly on its forehead, channeled energy into it, and with a flourish, stepped back.

"A Percy clone. It should stand up to minor hits, but I wouldn't chance it if I were you. It's more of a solid illusion. Something to keep you company against Aether's brainless blatherings."

Thalia walked around it, inspecting for flaws, briefly forgetting her surroundings. The clone's head followed her movement as best as it could, even going so far as to yelp and slap her hand away when she poked it.

"I'll take it with me. To keep up appearances, I mean," she added hastily when she noticed her slip. "See you then."

"Nyx..."

She left quickly. She didn't dare to look back in case those eyes saw right through her deception and left her exposed. But if she did, she would have seen him standing stock-still by the still red waters, head bowed.

When Percy was sure she was gone, he knelt slowly, hesitantly, by the dead bodies, letting that mask of indifference drop away. He unsheathed his scythe from its hidden form. It materialized in his hand. The blade was still tinged red.

"Do you know who I am? We need to know who our king is," he whispered cynically.

And still with those painstakingly slow movements, he held the weapon up to the puppet-victim's neck, and slid it perfectly into the groove left by the murderer's blade.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p>The news came in the form of one of the patrol guards. He hurried —but didn't run, Romans did not run— to the front, whispered something in the praetor's ear. Both of their faces darkened. Without a word he swept up his clothes and followed the guard out, leaving the other praetor to keep order.<p>

The crowd stirred. A wave of murmuring voices passed through them, although their eyes were fixed warily on the lone praetor at the front. She clapped her hands and made an announcement, and the centurions came down with the little white pills that were going to keep them safe.

After a while they began to calm. The sounds of cutlery against porcelain plates filled the air. The promise of good health sated them. But just then there was a shout, and the first praetor returned in a storm of golden fury. His jaw was set. The voices began to rise again. He bowed his head and said something to his partner, who closed her eyes as if in pain.

"The missing Romans have been found."

A cheer. It was cut short—

"Gaea has made her move. She has come. We are at war."

For the first few moments after the announcement the entire Roman assembly fell quiet. The winds stilled. Then, as one, chairs scraped against the ground and fell as all demigods hurried —but did not run, Romans never ran— to Bellona's temple.

There, in the centre, was the praetor's golden spear, shafted into the thick growth of vines.

Bellona was their goddess of war, but the jungle of briars inside the pillars of the temple may have belonged to Ceres instead. The vines were thicker than a grown man's leg and curled possessively over what seemed to be two motionless _growths_, slowly reeling them in until it was impossible to tell what they were. Along the sides, half hidden in their muted grey colors, venus flytrap-like maws with spiny, needling teeth lay half-closed and tilted up to the pulverized roof of the temple, where several vines had broken through the foundation.

Jason walked up and demanded, "Give us what is ours."

If the plants looked dead before, now they burst into life, unfurling from their tight coils to reveal stalks infinitely larger than they had seemed. As one, the maws opened, and the demigods could see the pink, almost fleshy colors of their insides.

From the center, hidden in the verdigris bowels of the shoots, layers on layers of creepers unfolded, like the petals of a grotesque flower. Some of them crept too close to the Romans, and many unsheathed their swords and hacked off the bits they could reach. The plants would then jerk back. One could almost describe them as _indignant._

The last vines unfolded, and the shapeless masses were deposited at the praetor's feet, coming to a slow stop in front of him.

If one had no prior knowledge, then the globs could not be describe in any way as humanoid. One had been punctured by numerous vines, which threaded between the ribcage and out the back. Some cut through the hands and feet, suspending him in a spread-eagled position. They were bloody, and moved out through the oozing holes like thread—as if the Roman had been one giant wound that needed stitching up.

The other was not punctured. Instead, the vines seemed to have grabbed a hold of each limb and _twisted_ them so that they were dislocated and often _backwards,_ then roughly shoved back in. As the vines released him, they unfolded their curls, making him bounce around like a yo-yo, before, with a final flourish, the head came off with a twist. While the body was deposited at Jason's feet, a separate vine presented the head to Reyna. She took out her sword and hacked the vine to bits. The head fell to a roll by her feet.

There was something else. The spear. It came out of the stem in a burst of black sap. Jason ducked his head to avoid the weapon. It nipped by his ear, then fell harmlessly into the crowd. Someone handed it back to him. He took it gingerly from the ends.

The shaft was completely disfigured. Words were burnt into the gold, crippling the metal, turning some parts of it liquid and others red-hot.

SI VIS PACEM  
>FAC BELLVM<br>IGNAVVS

Hidden in the crowd, a boy with black hair and pale skin murmured in admiration, "_'If you want peace, make war.'_ He has some sense of humor, doesn't he?"

-o-

The forges were alive with the smell of smelted metal and soot. Bakeries baked enough bread to feed seven armies. Soldiers practiced stances in the fields. Though war may be undesired by most, it made the whole camp feel alive. Some chose to forget that Rome's foundation was built on conquest, and as the last legacies of the empire, those instincts ran in their blood. They would not be denied.

The vines ensnaring Bellona's temple seemed to be a blatant reminder of their powerlessness to stop Gaea from reaching into their sanctuary without resistance. It did not sit well with any of them.

The Greeks were training in an edge of the field. The older boy was slowly guiding the girl through a series of complicated maneuvers with his sword. It seemed to be made of plain steel, although it glinted darker than any mortal weapon. To the side, a silver bow and a quiver full of arrows lay half-hidden in the swaying grasses. The younger boy had summoned a skeleton and was sparring with it.

Unconsciously, the Romans' eyes were drawn to them. Their style was foreign, as was expected, but also highly unpredictable. Romans valued order. The Greeks must worship chaos.

"Romans! Three-line strike!"

They were practicing formations. Dust from the chariots and foot soldiers rose up in billowing clouds. Sometimes the centurions would call out the next tactic, and other times the praetors would.

One young charioteer's eyes strayed. His reins slackened. The horse stopped abruptly. His chariot hit against a rut and he was thrown out and over, rolling with the impact. Behind him, the following charioteer tried to stop, and when he realized that it was too close, tried to divert it to the side. The corner of his chariot caught; and then the first horse reared in panic and bolted, breaking through the lines, trampling those who were unfortunate enough to be in the way.

"_Subsisto_!" the centurion called. She sounded tired.

Just then an arrow came flying out of the fields and poked another horse's rump. It didn't draw much blood, but it startled the creature enough that it shrieked.

A head shot up from the side.

"Umm... sorry about that!"

Apparently, the Greeks were practicing archery now and the older boy had atrocious aim. Though some wondered if it was intentional.

"Idiot!" The girl smacked him in irritation. "You're holding the bow wrong! Stop gripping it like a sword!"

"Ow! Stop that! _Thalia_!"

"And stop raising your shoulder, while you're at it! Same goes for you, Nico, stop smirking."

Yes, the Romans thought. Chaos indeed.

-o-

The night was quiet. It was a sharp contrast to the ringing of the day. Occasionally, the sounds of the patrol's footsteps broke the reticence, but it would soon fade and the silence would swell out and envelope the world once more.

Three of them stared at a moonless sky.

"Do you think she'll come today?"

They waited and watched the sun rise.

-o-

The morning wasn't quite so busy. Some of the Romans, pale-faced, came to the Senate to request a sick day. Some of them had stomachaches, and others complained of migraines. Their superiors blamed it on the stress and let the requests go through.

"You don't think Gaea's spreading some kind of disease again, do you?" said Nico. Percy shook his head.

"I'm not sure. It doesn't seem likely, though. It never was her style."

"It also never was her style to be late."

Thalia shrugged. "Maybe Tartarus changed her for the better."

"For the worse, you mean," Nico corrected. "It's not good for us."

"I don't think there's anything to be nervous of. We'll burn that bridge when we get there."

-o-

Two days turned to three turned to four. Soon, a week had passed. By then, many of the sick Romans had already returned, although their eyes were bloodshot and they looked relatively worse for the wear.

Jason had gotten a mild case of the flu a few days ago, and it left Reyna in sole command for the time being.

"It happens," Reyna told them tiredly. Handling two's paperwork and overseeing the practices taxed what remained of her energy. "The flu comes in around the same time every year. We've never had this many sick at the same time, though.

Nico looked at Thalia, who looked at Percy, who looked back at the two of them in confusion.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

Thalia rolled her eyes. "We could try to help, if you'd like. Hard as it is to believe, Percy _was_ considered the leader of the other camp, I was Artemis' lieutenant, and Nico got holed up in the Underworld to do his father's dirty work."

"That's a very kind offer, but I will be fine."

"Alright, but if you ever change your mind, just let us know."

"How's Jason doing?"

Thalia twitched at the name. Percy saw it from the corner of his eye.

"It's—" she bit her tongue. "—manageable." In other words, it was getting worse. "If you wouldn't mind, I have to get back to their training. Gwen is sick. You're welcome to watch, if you want."

They accepted the offer.

She turned back with a tenseness in her shoulders. They could tell that she had only offered out of politeness, and had not wanted them as a spectator. After a few short minutes, it was imminent why that the Roman legionnaires followed her instructions with sour resentment, as though they did not want to be under her command. They moved through their formations sluggishly.

An hour passed. They kept going.

Until one let out a bloodcurdling scream, fell out of his chariot in a dead spasm, and began to writhe on the ground. White foam spewed from his mouth. In a flash Reyna was by his side.

"Infirmary," she commanded.

No one moved.

_"Plenus stercoris es!"_ one spat. Reyna clenched her fists and said something in a deathly calm, suppressed voice, though her eyes promised retribution.

_"Damnant eam, et ducam eum, ipse."_

She tried to take the fallen demigod, but the others closed around her. Percy could tell she was itching to draw her sword. Was the bond of the camp so bad that they would attack their leader? He must honestly say that he had not seen that coming.

He stepped into their little circle and forced them apart.

"Hey, what happened to that united Roman front you guys seem so proud of?"

_"Fututus et mori in igni!"_

"I have no idea what that meant, but you know what, fuck you too."

"Jackson," Reyna cut in coldly. "I can handle this without your intervention."

Percy raised his hands in defence. "I know you can. I'm not worried about you. I'm more worried about that guy currently twitching over there. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he should probably get that seen to right now."

It seemed her duty to her people was stronger than her pride. Her shoulders fell.

"Take him," she said to Percy. "I need to deal with them. Do not stray. If you do, I _will_ know."

He mock saluted and winked at her. "Will do, commander." He slung the other over his shoulder easily, then walked off. The other two Greeks followed. When they were out of earshot, Thalia looked back and murmured—

"What was that?"

"Seizure."

"I would think this is happening a lot. If you look at her, she does not look surprised."

"So it's normal for people to fall over foaming at the mouth now?"

"No, you idiot. I mean the strife. She's losing control of the camp. It's as though they only respond to Jason and she's trying her best to keep them afloat."

Nico and Thalia bickered all the way into the infirmary, all the way until one of the healers shushed them. Percy snickered, but when a demigod dressed in white holding a clipboard approached him, he cleared his throat, shifted the weight of his burden to one hand, then held it out to shake.

"Err, hi. I'm—"

"_Tace atque abi. _I don't care, graceus."

He let his hand drop.

"Be like that then. Here's another seizure victim for you."

The demigod made a note. It was full of black check-marks.

"Set him on one of the beds."

He looked around. "Yeah," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yeah, that's a great idea. Considering there's no more free beds."

All around them, there were people lying sprawled over the occupied ones, moaning. The air smelled of sickness and pus. Percy saw one of the healers try to drain a large swelling lump on a demigod's leg, and it burst in a trickle of yellow-white liquid. Some of the healers themselves looked ill.

He didn't see Octavian. Maybe he was already released. Nor did he see Jason.

The doctor looked impatiently at him, as if he were very dumb, and then jabbed the butt of his pencil to the corner. There, many others were arranged on sheets spread on the ground, lying very still as they waited for someone to come.

Percy dropped him off there. He wasn't moving. He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach when he turned away and knew that he would not make it through the night.

"Let's go," he said to Nico and Thalia. They were glaring at each other, but followed him out and walked back to the field where the remaining Romans were training. Once more, they were moving in formation, with Reyna grimly surveying them from the side.

"We got him to the infirmary."

She didn't spare Percy a second glance. "Good."

They watched for a while.

"What did you do?"

Amidst the dust-streaked face, her eyes glittered fiercely with the spirit of War. She turned back to the legionnaires. Percy saw that they avoided her gaze.

"They may not like me. I don't care. But I am praetor, and they _will_ respect me."

His expression grew pained. He looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone I knew, a long time ago."

"What happened to them?"

"She was stabbed in the back. The only advice I can give you is to watch your own."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat, Jackson?"

"No. History has a tendency to repeat itself, doesn't it? Consider it a warning."

"If I must look behind my shoulder to fend off my own people, then it is because I have failed as a leader. As for you—"

But he shook his head. "You needn't fear us, so long as we're on the same side. Sometimes it's the inner betrayals that you'll need to watch out for the most. They come the most unexpected. Trust me on that."

"Whose side are you on, Percy Jackson?"

He gave her a smile. This one seemed real, a little bit malevolent but better because it did not hold that _wrongness_ she saw in him sometimes. "Ask me again in a few days if you don't know by then."

-o-

Five days passed. With each day that slipped by, the Greeks seemed more agitated. It was as if they were waiting for something. Reyna was beginning to feel restless herself.

Octavian was the one who woke her up in the morning. He was bending over her bed, his white-blonde hair set aflame by the streaks of sunlight coming through the crack between her curtains. Pale blue eyes glowed as if they'd been lit up from within. He would have appeared angelic, if not for the snarl set upon his lips.

"Get up," he snapped, throwing something at her. Reflexively, she caught it with one hand, even though she fumbled with it for a second as her eyesight adjusted to see a dull, heavy-set ring with a peculiar insignia carved on the top of an ash-black stone.

"A ring?" she raised one eyebrow. Her entire head throbbed, and every breath sent it spinning. "Don't tell me that this is your idea of a proposal, Octavian? I'm flattered, but I cannot say that I am interested."

"In your wildest dreams," he snorted, as if the very idea was appalling. His back was still turned to her. "I found it in the Temple, under the altar. Do you recognize it?"

Reyna rolled it between her fingers. It tingled beneath her touch, and even though she had been touching it for several minutes, it remained everlastingly cold.

"The insignia looks… familiar."

"I would imagine so," Octavian said, "memorize it, for it will be invaluable soon enough."

"You aren't making any sense."

Octavian snorted. "And I thought you were smarter than the rest." His eyes flicked upwards, still obscured from view; Reyna could only see a faint outline of his irises against the light. "Then I will just have to show you most intimately."

Instinct saved her. She lunged out of the way, just as a _pilum_ was stabbed so hard into the bed that the entire mattress dipped towards the impact point.

She came up in a kneeling position, her hand cradling the long scratch that ran down her left arm, weeping blood, staining the side of her white nightdress.

"Octavian! What are you doing!"

Reyna rolled out of the way of a second knife, swathed in sheets. She ripped them off of her, only to see that both weapons had embedded themselves onto her mattress, one impaled through a pillow, the other where her chest would have been. Both fatal shots.

"You are a fool, Ramirez-Arellano," he spat, "to trust so easily."

Reyna felt raw and bare in only her nightclothes, but she was not a praetor for nothing. She grabbed the gladius she kept underneath a loose floorboard, skidding out of the way of a knife, her face a rictus of loathing.

"That is where you are mistaken," she snarled back, her loose, unbound hair framing her face in a dark fountain of curls. In that moment, she could easily be mistaken for her sister, the Amazonian Queen, "for I have never once trusted you."

He scoffed in disdain and dodged a slash, reciprocating with a stab of his own. "You trusted the Greek pretty easily, if I recall."

"Not so much trust as mutual understanding of our situation."

"Understanding—hah! No," another slash; Octavian stepped in close, and Reyna caught his strike on the hilt of her gladius, throwing him off with difficulty, her breathing ragged. Octavian smirked. "You need him because you are weak, you cannot stand on your own, nor can you make wise decisions. You humiliate the ideologies of the Romans. With Jason gone, you would be nothing. You would bring ruin upon us all."

During Octavian's monologue, Reyna managed to stab him at the point where the neck met the shoulder, but he hardly seemed bothered, even as his blood stained the ground by his bare feet, splattering across pale skin.

He flicked his wrist; suddenly, it was as if all air had been robbed from her body, forcing her to her knees, choking for breath. Her grip slackened. Her gladius rolled to a stop at Octavian's feet. He picked it up, testing the weight, before he grasped the hilt to point it at her, cutting to a point just above her throat.

"You have become the harbinger of chaos," he intoned, his eyes glowing with that eerie light. "And it will be your touch that ends the world."

He stepped in close. Reyna backed into a wall. Octavian's hands reached out. Abruptly, his eyes wept milk-white fluid, seeping from his orifices, trickling from the corner of his mouth. It smelled of dead things. His entire left arm was mutilated black-and-blue, streaked with blood poisoning, hidden beneath stained linen bandages.

The gladius glowed black.

"My patrons were right. Thus, I shall end the threat before it begins. Any last words, my dear friend?"

Reyna stared at him coolly, refusing to beg, refusing to back down. "I am the praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, the surviving legacy of Rome, and you will not best me so easily!"

Octavian sighed pleasantly. "Hmm, pity. I will have to kill you. It's nothing personal, of course," he said.

The blade came down.

Reyna dodged, spinning to one side. It opened a gash in her side, slitting apart the waistline of her dress. Her face one of pain, she staggered and fell to one knee, crashing and upturning a dresser, before falling to the ground, gasping for breath and coughing out blood.

"Pathetic." He sounded almost disappointed, as though he'd expected more of a fight. She glared at him through clenched teeth, sweat-soaked hair sticking to her forehead, her face clammy with blood loss. Her hand slipped behind her back.

"How Rome has fallen. I grow bored of this game. Goodbye, Reyna. Perhaps I will see you in Death."

Metal hummed through visceral air, a mere slash of white and gold and edges of silvered blue.

Sparks screeched.

Reyna's face changed. There was no pain now, only a triumphant sort of sneer. The knife in her hand was bent to form an awkward, inverse "L" and was almost completely ripped from the hilt, but she seemed not to notice. She threw it out the broken window. It landed in a puddle reflecting the moon, disrupting its patterns for a brief moment.

"The thing about arrogant assholes," she said, "is that they tend to underestimate me."

Before she was even done talking, three knives had found their home in Octavian's body. All were dead centre, crippling, though not aimed to kill. She needed him alive for the time being—or, at least until she figured out the reason or motivations behind this attempted assassination.

She smiled at him. Her teeth were bloody from where she had bitten her tongue.

Octavian tried to bring his sword hand up again. She stepped forward and ground against it with her heel, crushing the fine, delicate bones of his wrist to dust. Reaching down, she plucked her weapon out of his now slackened hand, ignoring the cry of agony that seemed too loud to be real.

The sword tickled his chin. "Go to Tartaros, Octavian," she growled with as much animosity as she could muster. _"Morietur in dolore."_

And he smiled, a bloody smile that trickled between sharpened teeth.

"That can easily be arranged."

"Any last words, proditor?"

The direction of the blade was reversed. He seized the cutting edge, his hands bloodied as it sliced easily through muscle and bone, gripping it tight. Something metallic and glinting protruding from his wrist clicked twice, then glowed red.

"Aut vincere aut mori, vivum te non," he whispered, closing his eyes. _"Glory for Rome."_

Lights.

Explosion.

_"...Octavian, no—!"_

Blood.

* * *

><p><em>-X-<em>

* * *

><p><em>"...Reyna?"<em>

There was a fulmination of red, perhaps. She really wasn't sure. Her eyesight felt fuzzy, her tongue thick, and she felt as though she'd swallowed metal shavings. Distantly, she could hear shouting —the indeterminable type— and felt a cool hand grip her sleeve.

The red was blotted out by black—shadows, which then gave way to a cobalt blue, reminiscent to a night's sky, vividly cold and distant, a thousand and one miles away beyond the parameters of the earth.

Coherence came slowly.

_"Reyna. Are you alright?"_

Alright. Yes, she was. Or at least she thought so. Grimacing, she struggled to clear the haze from her stars were merely pinpricks of glossy white studding a field of cornflowers tonight, whispering in tongues long forgotten.

The world above spun. Something sticky slipped down the side of her face.

Arms, sturdy, caught her before she could fall, a gentle grip on her shoulder keeping her upright. Her left arm throbbed in sync to the drum's beat behind her eyes, white-hot delirism.

Something cold pressed against her back. She felt the hands guiding her down to a half-collapsed, half-sitting position at its base. Something warm —it smelled faintly of dark ozone, oddly soothing— was draped across her shoulders, the excess material bunching in her lap.

"Jason?" she murmured.

There was a silence for a very long time.

"No," the voice finally admitted. "I'm not."

Reyna snuggled into the warmth sleepily, blinking her eyes. "...oh." The response took a few seconds to be comprehended fully. She didn't really care, either way. "Then who are you."

"Percy."

"Mm…" she agreed, her cheek propped against her knees, which were drawn to her chest. "Percy… g'night."

"Not yet," Percy said. He tilted Reyna's face up, and seemed to be in the process of trying to coax her mouth open. "It doesn't taste that bad, I promise. You're going into shock. Come on, praetor."

She frowned mulishly.

"I don't want to."

He pried her mouth open when she was talking. Then, there was something sticky and sweet being poured down her throat. Alarmed, her thinking processes compromised, she did the first thing that came to mind.

Percy hissed. "Agh! You bit me."

Reyna spat out blood. It burnt on her tongue. Her head throbbed. The flow of liquid stopped even as her mind begun to clear. "It tastes bad. You lied."

He sighed in what must have been exasperation.

"Unless you're a vampire, it wasn't my blood you were supposed to drink."

She gave him a sullen stare.

"Then what if I was?"

"I should probably get the garlic."

"You smell plenty bad enough anyway. There is no need."

"I'm not sure if I should be worried or surprised that you've suddenly developed a sense of humor after almost dying from blood loss."

"Death makes us do crazy things."

A flicker of something indescribable crossed his face.

"Can you stand?" His voice was different from before. It almost seemed to be harsher. "We must get going. You are needed."

"Is... is everyone alright? What has happened?"

"Terminus is gone. Gaea is invading the camp."

The words sent an alarm through her body, shaking her mind back into consciousness. "Right." She tried to get up but stumbled. "Right. Do you have more nectar?"

Assuming it wasn't poisoned, of course.

"Yeah." He tossed her a flask. She took a long draw, too grateful to say anything else. The drink sent a pleasant tingle through her body. Her toes curled at the warmth. It tasted of raw fire.

A siren sounded. The borders had fallen. From the praetor's house, they could see, far below their feet, Romans equipped in armor streaming out of the cohorts, forming three loose lines. Light gleamed from their swords and helmets.

From the tunnel, dark shapes were emerging. Percy brushed past her. "Come on. Grab hold."

"Excuse me?"

"Grab on," he said, impatiently, a bit of temper sparking in his eyes. "Unless you want to waste fifteen minutes going down the hill by the road."

"Unless _you_ can fly—"

A ghost of a smile. "Not quite. But I may surprise you yet."

It only took a grudging grit of her teeth to make up her mind, but still she felt disgusted that she had been driven to this. _For the camp,_ she reminded herself, biting back a hiss of revulsion. He still seemed to hear it, thoUgh. She closed her arms around his shoulders. He turned his head slightly to the side.

"Ready?"

No. "Go already, Jackson."

He looked as though he was going to chuckle, but only stifled a grin. She felt the muscles in his back and arm shift —gods, she was _not–!_— and then the world was _gone_ in a roar of fire and heat and flames, and she looked up to see that the sky had been replaced by fingers of flames caught between inky black and a mercurial green, the same color as Percy's eyes.

They closed in.

"Jackson!" she screamed. "You're trying to get us killed!"

She should never have trusted him. This time, he did grin at her, and it was the last thing she saw before fire engulfed them whole.

It was hot. Unbearably so. Something inside of her was shrivelling. It was burning, burning her to the bone, liquefying her organs, melting her brain. And yet, it was cold at the same kind, the icy, numbing kind that reminded her of Alaska and the cold that came from a land that the gods could not reach.

She was burning was freezing was suffocating.

Then there was ground beneath her trembling fingertips. She had fallen. The fire was closing in on her again. Percy turned back. He wore a cloak of living flame. His eyes were on fire. He _was_ the fire.

"Don't tell me you can't handle it, Reyna?" he asked in amusement. His voice echoed. She could almost feel the heat of his breath even though he was so far away. "This is nothing when compared to burning in hell. Get up."

And there was just enough spite, just enough caustic carelessness in his tone that she gritted her teeth and pushed herself up. She saw a flicker of approval from the corner of her vision. He took hold of her wrist. The same icy hot feeling burned through her, but there was an undertone of soothing calm that made it all the more bearable.

Percy lifted his other hand, palm pointed to the sky, fingers clenched. The fire was sucked into his grasp and was gone, although she could see a faint, almost invisible shiver of heat above his hand.

She let go of him quickly.

They landed softly into the midst of the army.

"Show off," Nico muttered.

The Romans had already saddled. There was no more time. She could see the monsters streaming down the hill that led to the tunnel from here. They outnumbered them five to one. She needed to draw them away from the heavy infantry's flanks.

"Romans!"

A few heads turned. Most stared stubbornly forward. Reyna felt irritation claw at her stomach.

There was the sound of conch shells. Like dogs to the calling, their heads snapped up, eyes fixed intently on the grainy, veiled figure shifting its way across the ground.

"Romans," Reyna said again. This was it, this was— "Zama tactic."

The Romans did not hear her. They kept moving forward without slowing. Percy cursed and ducked when a gladius almost took his head off. The offending demigod didn't even turn around to acknowledge the mistake, and instead rushed with the rest of them towards the monsters.

A bit of disbelief and anger (and fear, though she would never admit it) chilled her blood.

"ROMANS!"

Ignored.

_(no, no, they just didn't hear me)_

The first line of monsters stopped. The second line bumped into the first, making some of them turn around, growl, and a minor scuffle to ensue. The Romans kept charging. She heard the thick twang of bowstrings. Arrowheads glittered with fierce light in the morning sun.

A wall of earth arrested their movements.

There was a veil. A woman with tilled-black hair. She fazed through the wall. A gust of wind made it flutter, uncovering her visage for the briefest of moments.

Her eyes were open.

"Demigods," she intoned softly. She held out her arms. "I welcome you."

It was perhaps only then that Reyna realized exactly why the demigods had been running, and who they had been running towards.

The first Romans fell to their knees in front of her, palms out, weapons gone. The rest followed, so that the sea of flashing helmets seemed to flatten. Percy knelt too. When Reyna turned to him in betrayed disbelief, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

"Do you want to look like a target?" he hissed. There was a terrible light in his eyes. "Keep your eyes down."

Meanwhile, Gaea began to speak. The words buzzed by Reyna's ears, drowned out by the keen of war in her blood and and the fury in her ears. She clenched her fists.

_They're under some sort of spell__._

_(she wouldn't think of the consequences if they weren't)_

Percy's head was down, but his eyes flicked up and met another's. Reyna could see the one they called Nico perched somewhere in front; slowly, he dipped into a nod.

"My children—"

They were waiting for some kind of signal. Intently, he gazed at the treetops. Reyna growled under her breath and thought furiously for a plan. She may have lost control of her own people (and how deliciously ironic that was) and even if Percy seemed to remain loyal to the Camp, she would not trust him and she would not leave the fate of her treacherous Romans to his hands.

"—this is the dawn of the Sixth—"

Gaea was their centre of attention. Undoubtedly, the spell would be anchored to her. If she would be killed...

A glint of light.

_There!_

Percy was gone.

Gaea had seen the arrow coming from the corner of her eye. She caught it before it could impale her through the neck. It was silver, and crumbled to ashes in her fist.

"Who...?" she snarled. There was surprise first. The dark kind of anger that emanated out of her came next, the kind that made Reyna shiver even as it passed harmlessly over her head. "Who dares—!"

_"Miss me much?"_

The answer came when hellfire exploded in her face. Gaea howled and erected a wall of solid earth, which was melted into obsidian black stone. When the smoke cleared, there was a figure perched on the new wall.

"Hi, Gaea." He smiled his closed-eye smile. His left hand closed. It was shaking slightly. Remnants of fire smoked from his palm. "I've heard lots about you."

Reyna dared to raise her head a little. She could see the expression of disbelief that blew across her features, frostier than winter's touch across the earth. She took a step forward, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him carefully.

"...Perseus Jackson."

He jumped down and landed in a crouch, drawing out that odd steel sword. It almost seemed to glow.

"In the flesh. What, surprised?"

She bared her teeth. She regarded him with an expression of contempt. The monsters banged their shields and swords. The Romans did not move.

"You cannot last against an army."

"Funny, Kronos said that too, and look where he is now. Whatever you did to the Romans won't last forever."

"On the contrary, I did nothing to them. They joined me of their own free will. Can't you see, Jackson? It's only a matter of time before the gods fall. You are on the losing side."

"I've been against wost odds. I think I'll be alright, thanks. Better keep your worry for yourself, because you'll need it."

"Do you really think you can stand a chance against _me,_ demigod?"

"Nope," he replied cheerfully. "But all I've gotta do is to keep you occupied. The gods will come and finish you off soon enough."

Gaea threw back her head and laughed. It was a hot, dry sound that reminded Reyna of sand trickling in an hourglass. Percy faltered. She circled him. Or rather, she would melt into a pile of sand and would reappear on the other side, fully formed, reaching for him.

"The gods? Oh, you amuse me, but it seems like you never will learn. You couldn't even hold off my sons. Haven't you learned not to bank on the gods the last time you were thrown into Tartarus? But no. It seems you mistake me. I did not bring this... army," here, she fixed the monsters with a look of contempt, "to claim this camp. I do not need to claim it."

She surveyed him with a triumphant look. Percy glared back, though Reyna could tell he was affected by the mention of Tartarus. Not for the first time she wished to know what had transpired there.

"It is already mine. The gods have betrayed you and left you to my mercy. You are already under my control. Romans, attack!"

A breath, a beat, and then the world exploded.

Reyna had time to see a demigod leaping at Percy's back before another arrow took him out and then the sea of writhing bodies obscured her view. The sound of hundreds rising to their feet and unsheathing weapons drowned out Gaea's triumphant laugh. The monsters gnashed their teeth and roared and watched the Greeks and the Romans. The gods were probably watching on their gilded thrones too, and not for the first time, treacherous thoughts entered her head. This time, they were too persistent to be pushed away.

She was almost bowled over when the legionnaires behind her plodded forward. They were all chest-to-chest, pushing, breathing as one. The Romans marched forward. She kept her head down and followed. They were packed tightly enough so that even if she tucked her legs up, she would have been carried forward anyway. None paid her any attention.

Soon she was stepping over the dead bodies. Some were shafted through with arrows, and others with pieces of bone.

Where was Jason? Gods, he would not take this well...

She heard the hiss of a bowstring. Another arrow. The legionnaire in front of her fell, knees buckling, falling face-first into the mud churned by the hundreds of feet that had disturbed it before. Blood splattered on her face. No one blinked an eye. She followed the trajectory and saw cold blue eyes watching her carefully from the foliages of a tree.

The Hunter of Artemis. Thalia.

She raised a single brow as if daring her to speak, then tilted her chin forward, beckoning her closer. When Reyna blinked, she disappeared out of view once more, the leaves rustling in her wake to be replaced with a silver arrow tip.

She may have been a Greek, but she was not a part of this madness, and Reyna felt the sudden weight of relief in the pit of her stomach. She was not _affected_.

_(but she's the one killing my people)_

But... she needed to be stopped. Even if the Romans had betrayed them, she felt a last obligation to them.

It was difficult to edge herself to the side. Many times she was pushed and shoved and almost lost her footing. When she thought she was going to be carried away, a gloved hand shot out, grabbed onto her own, and yanked her up. Reyna felt herself deposited roughly on the lower branch of a tree.

"Nice to see a friendly, non-hostile face," the Hunter said sarcastically. "I thought you had your little Romans under control."

Reyna had often spent so much time glaring at Percy that she had not paid too much thought to his companions. It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the relative dimness of the light under the foliage of the tree.

Thalia was pale-skinned, tall, and wiry. She was built like a marathon runner, or perhaps a cat. Her eyes were dark blue that sometimes bordered on black, and there was a splash of freckles across her nose that reminded Reyna of constellations.

Thalia spared her a glance from the corner of her eye, then focused back to her task at hand. She notched another arrow and took aim.

"Well, girl? Did Octavian strike you dumb?"

_Sccchk._ Somewhere, a demigod fell.

"No." Reyna could feel suppressed anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. "Gaea is controlling them." Another arrow. "I would appreciate it if you would stop killing our allies."

"Our _previous_ allies," she corrected, taking aim. "That was revoked when they decided that it would be awesome to turn on us. If you just came here to try and get me to play nice, you're wasting your time." Fire. Reload. "See, they're using lethal force, and we're outgunned. So unless we do the same, we'll be overwhelmed."

Reyna was debating whether or not to tear the bow out of her grasp when Thalia sighed and said, "If it makes you feel any better, they won't die if they're treated immediately. Most of them, anyway."

"I don't understand."

"Demigods have a higher healing factor, right? Especially when there's nectar or ambrosia. Take my word for it; they'll be fine. But _we_ won't be if they don't snap out of it soon, and if we cross paths again I won't be so merciful."

Thalia's arrows were merely a glint of light through the air before its target went down with a grunt. It was divine judgement. To the right, Reyna could make out a fissure in the ground from which skeletons clawed themselves out of the earth, gnashing broken teeth.

What if this had been orchestrated by the Greeks? What if they knew this attack was coming, which was why they seemed to wait with such anticipation, and used it as a cover to take out the Romans? What if—

There was a shout. It drew their attention.

It was Nico. She couldn't hear anything. But the next moment Percy gave a terrible yell.

The monsters roared. In triumph, Reyna thought. She had only a few seconds to wonder about it because in the next moment, Percy tumbled from the wall. There was a massive, crude sword impaled through his shoulder, poking out its other end through his back. He got to his feet and pulled it out, allowing blood to flow free, but by that time he had already been swarmed.

The instant Percy finally fell to the Romans was the instant the sky turned black and darkness swallowed the sun. There was a cry of dismay that was probably Nico, followed by a loud curse. The sound of swords and fighting lulled. Everyone, demigods and monsters alike, looked to the heavens and watched as the shadows chased away the fleeing light, until it was dark from one horizon to the other.

The darkness only lasted for a few short moments. Then, the world lit up white.

Thalia looked up and said, very clearly, "Shit."

A searing brand, glowing hotter than a dying star, had traced itself across the blackened sky. Birthed from the East, it became rapidly larger and faster, the images spreading its wings, clearing in form until she saw what looked like an eagle but more resembled a phoenix in all of its burning, implacable wrath.

In the pale light, she saw the Greek's pale countenance grow white with new fear.

"Shit," Thalia was still saying. She packed up her equipment and slung her bow over her shoulder, the almost empty quiver rattling with each movement. "I thought he could hold off for a while longer. No time now." Then, she paused and looked at Reyna, as though she'd only just remembered that she was there. "Come with me and live, or die with your Romans."

"I cannot."

She shrugged and began to move away. "It's your choice. But just remember that you're no use to anyone dead. Except maybe Gaea."

All her life, she'd been taught to say no. But one look at the earnest eyes of the girl in front of her compared to the not-betrayal of the Romans, her tongue stuck in her mouth.

"I—I'll come. For now."

Thalia nodded. She looked faintly pleased by this. Reyna quashed down the part of her that furiously screamed for her to draw her sword and attack the girl, and rationalized with herself that she would need to first stay alive and she was not sure what her situation was when Thalia seemed to know something at least.

She would split soon. She would.

"Good. Perhaps there's hope for you yet. Keep up. This place is coming down and we don't have time to waste."

Without waiting for an answer, Thalia turned and leaped down from the branches, landing softly on all fours. Her head swivelled; Reyna could see her eyes glowing bright in the darkness. She disappeared between two boulders and was gone into the darkness that she seemed so at ease with.

Reyna followed. She dropped onto the ground. The landing knocked the breath out of her body. There was a slight moment of hesitation when she saw the blank, unseeing eyes of one of the Romans —oh gods, she could see Hazel and Frank from here, kneeling in supplication to Gaea— before something inside of her _wrenched_ and she took off running._  
><em>

(et tu, brute?)

She ran as light nipped at her heels and her vision blurred with—no, surely it was anger, not fear, not sadness, not pain. For forever and a day, she stayed just out of its grasp, and yet close enough to feel it smouldering behind her. Her breath coming in sharp gasps, she dared to crane her head upwards. The eagle was circling, shrieking discordant notes that sent shivers up her spine.

Time. Time was running out.

Slowly, slowly, the light died, so that she could see nothing at all, and heard only her rough, ragged breaths. She felt the ground beneath her feet—

"Oof!"

—then tripped over something circular and heavy. The tip of her foot caught and she fell hard. Groaning, she tried to push herself up, only to flinch when shards of something sharp cut into her palms. The round object rolled to bump against her outstretched hand. She snatched it back in alarm, then cautiously reached out again, fingers tense.

It was cold. One side was smooth, with a few odd bumps and creases, and the other had deep, grooved lines carved into it. The lines continued well over half of the object. On the top, it had been shaved absolutely flat. Some parts seemed to have melted. She didn't know what it was, but it would be too heavy to bring. She got to her feet, dropped it, and began to run in a direction she thought would have been forward.

The black was endless, and the fragments of light returned just as swiftly as it had disappeared.

Thalia was up ahead. She was silhouetted against the rapidly brightening sky. "Come on." She beckoned again, stepping over a motionless body. It had been impaled by one of her silver-fletched arrows. She pulled it out as she ran past. There was an urgency to her movements that was contagious.

Reyna caught up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Breathing burned. She looked down on her palms and pulled out a sliver of white stone flecked with grey veins—marble.

So that was what it was.

"Where are we going?" she said warily. She had had the foresight to pick up a spear she had found lying on the ground, but it balanced heavily in her hand and she knew she would have to overcompensate to hit any target with it.

"Isn't it obvious? We're going to your mother's temple."

She cursed. A feeling of dread chilled her spine.

They shouldn't have come. They should have gone to the borders. Reyna should never have trusted her. She should have listened to her instincts, which had been screaming at her to get as far away from the black-haired girl as possible.

"I wish you'd consulted me beforehand. Gaea has it taken over. You'll find no sanctuary there."

Thalia didn't miss a beat. "Don't worry about the vines. They'll actually help us. I know what I'm doing, don't worry."

What if the Greeks were the enemies' spies...?

She should kill her. Now, when she had the chance. Before Thalia fully armed herself. Reyna calculated the distance... it would have to be now. They would reach the temple soon. Her hand suddenly felt sweaty. She clenched it tighter.

Lightning-hot light cleaved the sky into two. Momentarily, it caught her attention, turning it skywards.

The eagle clutched a scythe and an arrow, molten wings spreading from one end of the horizon to the other. It breathed a tongue of living, breathing fire. Gaea deflected it to the side. Splashing into the dark woods, there were a few seconds where nothing happened, before the first orange columns began to turn the tree trunks to ashes.

The temple was now in sight, along with its horrible, curling overgrowths. The vines had twined like ivy up the pillars, and was overflowing, feelers spilling out much like an octopus' tentacles, groping blindly along the sides. It was reflected grotesquely in the fire's light.

"Right," said Thalia, "now..."

She should. Now. But she was beginning to have doubts. Wouldn't it better if she convinced the Greeks that she was one of _them? _Keep your friends close and enemies closer, after all.

By then it would be too late for the Romans. Reyna wouldn't be so arrogant to think that they had gone after a specific demigod in the Camp, let alone she herself. They must have wanted to either devastate one of the gods' last strongholds, or sway the balance of power to the Greeks.

In the end, it turned out that nature —or perhaps Fate— made the decision for her.

It started as a faint tremor in the earth. A bright, bright white light was streaming from the sky, faster than she could comprehend and threatened to swallow them all whole. A horrible silence was cast upon the world, and Reyna held her breath, frightened that someone may hear it in the deep silence.

The eagle dropped the arrow. It gained speed on the way down, so that instead of a single thread of white, it appeared to be millions and millions superimposed onto each other, lending it a terrible kind of power.

Thalia threw out her hands and shouted, "Avert your eyes!"

There was a terrible heat. It pulsed once, twice, three times, before dissipating into a lingering, sticky torridity that made it difficult to breathe. She dared to crack an eye open. The light was intense, burning with a passion that made Reyna feel as though she was combusting just through visual contact.

There was a shield. A milky, white substance that crackled every so often with electricity and held back the worst of it. Strands of twisting fibres burrowed deep into the shield, leaving spiralling little gouges when they dissipated into smoke.

Curiosity got the better of her once more. She allowed one eye to open to a slit once more. This time, the brightness was more manageable, though she did feel her pupils contract painfully.

She saw dark shapes —horses, minotaurs, other nameless beasts, each greater and more terrible than the last— form on the other side, clawing their way through. Their eyes, if those hollow sockets could be called such, seemed almost to be fixed directly onto Reyna. The shield pulsed in time to Thalia's heartbeat. The epicentre grew from the outwards force between her hands. It was bright enough to illuminate the sweat beginning to form on her forehead and the stubborn grit of her teeth.

The bestial forms shrieked again. When Reyna was sure Thalia would be able to hold up the shield no longer, they gave one last scream and sank back into the shadows, though Reyna could still feel their eyes on her.

When most of the light faded, it dropped and Thalia rose to her feet, weary and strained. She staggered. Reyna's own knees felt weak.

"Come on," Thalia said, breathing heavily. "That was only half of it."

"Half? There's more?" Reyna said incredulously.

Thalia blinked in surprise. "Of course there is. Why, you didn't believe that was _all,_ did you?"

She did, actually. She didn't think anyone could pull that off twice. Instead, she said, "Where are your friends? Aren't they coming?"

"No. Nico has his own way. He'll be here soon enough. He'll probably drag Percy back from the dead, too, if he hasn't kicked the bucket yet. Look, your paranoia does you credit, I'm sure. But right now we don't have enough time to argue this through. I'll go first. If you want to run for the borders or stay behind, suit yourself."

Cracks had appeared in the temple's pillars. It had been protected by the shield, but the successive impacts had weakened it enough for chunks to begin to come loose.

Thalia took a running leap. Before her feet could hit the ground, the feelers twisted themselves around her waist, feet, and arms, suspending her in the air, slowly reeling her in. More and more of them, thicker ones, wrapping over her face. Reyna wondered if she would be dismembered or pierced.

Soon, she was gone, swallowed by the vines.

Reyna looked up at the sky again.

The eagle circled once more, then pulled up, talons out, wings tucked, and _dived._ Fire formed a tail, bellowing out a screech of light and white-lightning fire. It was a comet, the scythe a blur of silver that cleaved the skies in two, ripping the darkness and showing the daylight for a few brief seconds before the shadows knitted themselves back together.

She heard Gaea roar, "_EREBUS_!"

Erebus. Erebus. She remembered him.

In response, the eagle changed form. The wings elongated and narrowed, shrouded by razor-sharp feathers. The body thinned and took form, arms tucked to the side, gripping the scythe. Seconds before impact. He tucked his legs in, shifting so that the weapon was set to cleave Gaea's head into two, and _blurred_.

It was then that Reyna realized she had no idea what she was going up against.

The earth rumbled.

She lost her balance when the ground cracked beneath her feet and fell into the writhing mass of vines. Eagerly, they snatched at her, rolling her up like a burrito. She struggled. It was not enough. The burn came again, quicker and quicker, each with more fervor than the previous pulse. The vines began to slacken their hold as several black holes scorched through them, freeing Reyna's head enough that she could just see the figure twist in the air, wings flaring out and snapping down to create a gale strong enough to snap trees like toothpicks and to blow all of the Romans out of the clearing.

The vines were tightening again. She felt their smooth, slick grip.

Gaea came up to meet him. Her staff clashed against his scythe. For a few beats, everything remained still. The world held its breath. The light grew more and more intense.

One.

Two.

Three.

The vines squeezed tight. Reyna felt the ground opening up beneath her and the feeling of being dropped through a narrow entrance and into some kind of tunnel below.

It was getting hotter and hotter. She fell for a terrifying amount of time before she hit the ground. There was earth beneath her fingers and she clenched her hands into it, feeling the grains sift through her fingers. She looked around. There was no illumination. She could see maybe two meters to either side because of the light rapidly pouring in from the entrance. The earth was beginning to glow, beginning to burn from the heat, and she scrambled backwards just as pieces of marble crashed through.

The plants ignited into a flash of fire. Before they tumbled down and blocked the tunnel's entrance, a hand suddenly closed around Reyna's wrist and pulled her away. She felt herself stumbling, then running as they ran faster and faster. As the ceiling rapidly came crashing down, burying the network in dirt and fiery brands of marble.

The sound of the screams was carried over and was abruptly cut off. The world quieted. The grip on her wrist loosened and was gone.

The strike of a match. Thalia's grimy face was illuminated in the dim flame.

"So you made it after all."

Reyna tilted her head imperiously despite the fact that she was streaked with soot and questionable liquids and there was bits of bark stuck in her hair. She didn't realize she was shaking until she spoke.

"So I did. I-I believe you owe me an explanation."

"That can come later. Now, we ought to get moving. I hate mazes, and this one's no different, except it likes to spice things up by changing every once in a while."

"Where... are we?"

Thalia gave her a grim smile. The shadows on her face contorted strangely, drawing the corners back and lending her an air of something dark, something foreign.

"Well, if you know anything of Greek myths, you should know of this. Welcome to the Labyrinth, Reyna. I hope you have an appetite for living dangerously."

* * *

><p>-X-<p>

* * *

><p>Death was a barefoot little girl with pale skin and dark, soulless eyes. Her hair reflected strands of dark ember, and was braided over one shoulder. The cloak draped over her shoulders was much too big, and the ends were ragged from being dragged across the ground, sodden from the accumulation of days of rain.<p>

Her footsteps were silent. The water rippled as she passed, briefly reflecting ashen white faces, staring back from the puddles before they dissolved into darkness.

"And not for the first time, Order, you have failed," said she, her voice light as can be, carrying a laughing edge.

"Death," he growled. The chains threading through his wrists clattered. Speckles of red painted parched earth. He was chained to the statue of a smiling little boy, eyes closed and head tilted with wonder. She tilted her head to one side, the very image of an innocent young child, mirroring the statue.

"Not anymore. That never was my true name, _Deos. _You always knew."

"Don't play me for a fool. Have you come here to gloat?"

She knelt in front of him, still regarding him with sad eyes, but just out of arm's reach so he couldn't reach over and strangle her to get that pitying look off of her face.

"I didn't," admitted Death. "I have just come to tell you that we are not going to play by the rules this time around. This universe shall not die like the many that had come before them."

"I have no time to waste talking to you over your mindless babble."

"You were always the brightest out of the three of us, Order. The studious one. You're lucky that the Vault is affecting you slower than most. You still retain your processes of thought and so you still have your most dangerous weapon yet."

"What do you want, Death." He tugged half-heartedly on his chains, then sat down, the very image of a wounded but proud tiger that bore its scars proudly.

"Can't I come to visit my favourite big brother?"

His lip curled. "Chaos was always your favourite. You always preferred running around like headless fools than to remain even an instant with me."

Death shook her head. "Chaos was a wonderful playmate, but I admired you the most. I always have."

"It's too late now."

Death moved forward. Their hands were almost touching. Order shrank back from her, and something haunted wrote itself across his face before it was replaced with his usual edge of malicious intent.

"It's never too late," she said softly. "But sometimes I wonder. If you never had tried to defy what was Written then you never would have turned out like this. _He_ was meant to burn short and bright from the start, and you were a fool to interfere."

"I was a fool to do so, and I was a fool to think I should."

Death tapped long fingers absently against her thigh. "Ah, but it's not completely your fault. I do believe insubordination runs in our blood."

Order narrowed his eyes and drew himself back up, even though the sudden draining of color from his countenance made it clear exactly how much that was costing him.

"What are you talking about?"

She smiled at him. "You always knew me best."

"This is not the time for jokes."

"I mean to tell you that we are not going to go down without a fight again. This cycle is self-destructive, and it's only a matter of time before it explodes. It's time there was a change... wouldn't you say?"

He sneered at her. "You make even less sense than usual. Your presence is giving me a headache. I would ask you to leave."

Her voice was quiet. "I won't be leaving today, Order."

"Do not test me."

"Your freedom... isn't that what you've always wanted? Power was only the means to that end. You've never escaped. I guess... it's my turn to change that."

She was walking closer now. As she did, she got taller, shifting into a more mature form. Order backed away from her, though it was not out of fear. It was almost worry, if he was capable of feeling such an emotion.

"Death! Stop—stop this foolishness!"

"You never were a good liar. For the longest time, you convinced everyone that you were beyond saving. You convinced yourself. But I think you're just scared of how much of you is still in there, despite your attempts to suppress it all."

"I don't remember you ever being this verbose. What are you doing...?!"

"And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come to this conclusion. I'm afraid I can't give you more than a taste of your freedom before it all ends. So let us hope that in our next life, it will be different..."

Order's face twisted into a disgusted, haughty expression. "The Vault has addled your brain. Leave me, Death. I command it of you!"

(we are enemies and nothing will ever change that)

She stepped in close to him. Her breath was closed, her eyes kaleidoscopic with millions of colors.

"You were a good person. You just lost your way. I..." Suddenly, she pinned him against the wall. After such a prolonged period of time within the Vault, Order's strength had waned, and Death was able to shove him roughly into the corner, towering above him. "I... know what I must do. Tell him I'll wait for him. When you remember."

She slammed her hands onto his forehead. It was too fast. Order opened his mouth in a wordless shout, his knees buckling.

Blackened, necrotic light filled the chamber. The stone statue of the smiling boy with rosy cheeks and a bright smile crumbled to ashes. In its place, a young girl sat with her knees hugged to her chest, marble eyes staring off into the distance, ever waiting, ever watching for a future that would never come.

Order tumbled off of the pedestal. As he watched, invisible acid dripped onto the chains encasing his limbs, slowly eating away the metal until it was all gone.

"No! Death! What did you do?"

She had been reverted to her child form. After a moment of hesitation, Order dropped onto his knees. His hands hovered uncertainly above her, his fingers twitching as though he longed to pick her up and yet could not bring himself to. Slowly, her eyes opened. The light was draining fast.

She gave him a cracked, tired smile. "My freedom for yours?"

It was disuse that made his voice come out cracked, not pain and most definitely not fear. He was never good at expressing his feelings. He tried to come up with something eloquent to say, but the words fizzled in his brain and for once his silver tongue failed him.

Croak. "Why?"

Her reply came slowly. Sleepily. He had to bend down to hear it. Her breath tickled his ear.

"_Vivere mortius suus casus deine einai, yn spirare las."_

He gathered her in his arms. His arms crooked awkwardly around her. She didn't seem to feel the discomfort, and instead smiled at him. She pressed her hand to his forehead.

"How long it has been," she breathed, her eyes closing, body sagging in his embrace. "I think... I should like to rest."

Order laughed uncomfortably. It was a raspy sound. "Stop jesting with me, Death. Get up and we will go our own ways."

Several moments passed.

"Do you remember... that song you used to sing me...? I... used to think it was... morbid, but now I think that it was truly perfect..."

Yes. He knew. It rang in his ears, even now. Sometimes it sounded mocking.

_Dormi, mi soror, dormi—sunt qui dicunt, vitam beatam esse: dicunt, dicant, nesciunt._

"Death? Death, this is unbecoming. You are no longer a child and we can never go back to the way we were. Death? This isn't amusing. Get up! Get..." There was something uncomfortable prickling at the edges of his eyes. It stung. "...get up..."

_Dormi, mi soror, dormi—veniet dies, quo tibi erit, larga, largissima quies._

There was no answer, but if he had been looking, Order would have seen the statue raise its head a little and give him a tiny, warm smile, before it and Death's body vanished into the Void, reclaimed by the place where she had been created to oppose the Endless.

Order remained on his knees, his arms cradling open air.

_Dormi, mi soror, dormi—aderit mox, mihi, tum tibi... _ultima, optima nox.__

"...Death...please?"

He thought he could hear laughing.

(it's not your time to sleep yet)

"—_what are you doing up so late, Death?"_

_"...I had a nightmare. I can't sleep. I... they'll get me if I sleep."_

_"You know they would not dare. Do not be silly."_

_"Order..."_

_"Oh, very well... come here. Ai, don't jump on my leg. Chaos broke it in our fight today."_

_"Sorry, deos... anm ilya syitaes?"_

_"Yes, I'm fine, do not worry. Chaos took it too far. But that is another topic of discussion. How are you feeling now?"_

_"Sing something for me... please? I like your voice."_

_"...Death... you yourself said that I sounded like dying crows a few years back."_

_"Please."_

_"Don't give me that—oh very well... just let me put away my paperwork first. Ai. What do you want to hear? I don't know any."_

_"Make one up then. And... oh! In that new language. The one me and Ch—"_

_"—Chaos and _I_—"_

_"—yes, yes, the one _Chaos and I_ are making."_

_"Hmm... what about... d_ormi, mi soror, dormi—sunt qui dicunt, vitam beatam esse: dicunt, dicant, nesciunt..___."_____

_____"Uhm... what does it mean?"_____

_____"Silly girl... why did you ask for it in Latin if you don't understand what it means?"_____

_____"I do! I just..."_____

_"Hush. I will repeat it again in Ordiian. Sleep, little sister, sleep. T__hey think that life is blissful, but t__hey do not know what they say... __the day will come when you will find solace __in death's arms... __soon the kindness of forever night __will come for you and me..."  
><em>

_"That's really morbid, Deos..."_

_"Well excuse me, but if you wanted something sunshine and rainbows, you should have asked Chaos."_

_"...he wouldn't understand. Thank you, big brother. I'm better now... good night."_

_..._

_..._

Hopelessness didn't taste so much like defeat as it did the soured acerbity of rotted fruit. And for the first time in millennia, Order felt its vestiges clawing painfully at his heart. He thought of a little girl with eyes of dark chocolate and hair the color of spun darkness laughing and tugging on his hsnd, and threw back his head even as a choked, strangled noise made itself out of his mouth.

"I care for nothing," he gasped to himself. _Especially not her. _

They had never been particularly close. He was too engrossed with his work, and she with Chaos. It was only after the latter was ripped apart did a common cause bring them all together.

He thought of the two of them, young, grim-faced immortals desperate to bring Chaos back after his death. She turned to soul reaping and he to experimentation. She was barely older than a child and he was all but one.

He wasn't sure when they had begun to split. When the rift was discovered, it had been too late to mend. But what if it had been different? He prided himself on his observational powers. What if—?

—no. No, it does not matter. He stopped caring about Death the day she betrayed him. She was nothing to him. Nothing.

There was a mask on the ground. His own, before...

He closed his eyes and picked it up. The rough edge of the broken side caught against his fingers.

"Don't think I buy your story for a second. There's something you need me for and now I cannot say no." He took a small breath, then smiled thinly at the endless ceiling above. Somewhere, a lone wolf howled at a dying star.

_You always said I was a good manipulator, Death... but you were the most brilliant of us all._

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Vivere mortius suus casus deine einai, yn spirare las... _I've watched you die thousands of times, and now it's your time to live."


	24. AN: Rewrite?

Hello, everyone.

First things first; I truly am sorry for my disappearance off the face of the earth. A lot of things have been happening that I've been trying to deal with (albeit unsuccessfully). I'm not going to get into too many details, since I doubt anyone really would care to listen to me complain for hours.

Not only is the reality getting in the way of things, I find myself disillusioned with this archive. I've lost interest in attaining, setting new bars, because everything is so... stale, dry, worn down. There is something missing; a vitality, an eagerness from which I can always feel the author's excitement, their hopes for improvement and love. Now...

My dearest friends, I thank you for all you have done for me, whether or not you were aware of it in the first place. It is because of this that I have yet to quit, and it is also because of this that I have reached today's decision after months of consideration and contemplation.

If I were to describe my own fatal flaw, I would say it is the fruitless pursuit of unattainable perfection and the frustration that therein lies. I have had much time to think, and I've been distracting myself by thinking of the future of this story. It hasn't been halted by writer's block so much as it has by apathy. Originally, I was thinking of deleting everything, and maybe beginning anew under a different name, in a different archive; a blank slate. But then I thought about how much I would be letting everyone down, because being an author is to dedicate yourself to the works that you create and not decide off the top of your head to abandon it "just because," and damn it, I wasn't going to do that.

So now, since I may be writing in part for myself but mostly for all of you, there are two choices that you have to pick from.

One, I will continue as best I can along my original plot line (did you think we were almost through? Oh, come now. The fun hasn't even started!).

Two, I will rewrite... again.

Let me explain myself. I know that a lot of people are confused over what I am trying to do with this story. I've always been promising that it will all make sense in the end, but I guess some people really don't want to wait until then, and it's really hard to try and explain without giving away the whole thing. My writing style also tends to take a dramatic shift every half an year or so, and it's often incompatible with the previous kind, enough that it's like different people are writing it, though that might just be my critical side coming out. I was originally planning for this story to be around 150k, twenty chapters or so in length (hence, the reason why Part I is so short), and it's really quite evident that the story took me hostage and then ran away with me. When I figured that I wasn't satisfied with the result, I intended to slap chunks of new material on all of the old chapters, but then I realized that they would be 50k words each and much, much too long, even for me. If I am to rewrite, the later chapters will undergo little change. Rather, the beginning chapters will be altered, be added and taken from, and improved upon (I'm a little bit ashamed to say that I wrote it, even if it was years and years ago). I'll take down all chapters, then re-upload them as I go, just like I've been doing all along.

Now that I'm not in a rush, I think I can try to explain the viewpoint of the gods a bit better rather than saying, "Zeus's a jerk, Annabeth sucks, deal with it." I think I can do a much better job making them real, live characters. I can build and destroy bonds. I can redefine Erebus' character—they are meant to be very different, Percy and Erebus, and the way they deal with problems should be enough to definitively separated their characters even if I were not to put their names. For example, while Percy is mostly definitively good, Erebus is cold, calculating, and will kill without hesitation. There's a very, very big reason for that, and not just because one possesses a moral compass that the other lacks. He as much a villain as Percy is a hero. He's not a martyr, not some misunderstood hero, even if it may seem that way sometimes. When Percy and Erebus combine, they balance each other out. Did you really think either would really be thrown into the Void and would not twist it to his advantage?

(But of course, that's later on and it'll only make sense if you still remember what went on a million words ago).

At any rate, I would very much appreciate your opinions. I promise with everything that's left of me that if I do rewrite, I won't go on a big hiatus again. Regardless of what happens, I won't abandon Blackened Dawn. It holds much too dear of a place in my heart for that.

I'll see you all soon. After all, ars longa, vita brevis.

With love,

—Sv

P. S. Those PMs... I'm getting there. Slowly.


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